University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


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4 


THE 


POETICAL  WOEKS 


MARK     AKENSIDE 


WITH    A    LIFE, 


BY   REV.  ALEXANDER  DYCE. 


BOSTON: 

LITTLE,  BROWN,   AND    COMPANY. 
1  864. 


ADVEETISEMENT  TO  THIS  EDITION. 


THIS  edition  of  Akenside's  Poems  is  a  reprint 
of  that  prepared  by  the  Rev.  Alexander  Dyce 
for  Pickering's  "  Aldine  Poets,"  in  1834,  with 
some  improvements,  consisting  principally  in  the 
correction  of  errors  discovered  by  a  re-collation 
of  the  texts. 

The  Poems  as  far  as  the  Epistle  to  Curio,  p. 
409,  are  given  as  they  appear  in  the  authorita 
tive  edition  of  Mr.  Dyson,  London,  1772. 

The  remaining  pieces  have  been  compared  with 
the  printed  originals,  except  An  Epistle  to  Curio 
and  Love,  an  Elegy,  which  have  necessarily  been 
taken  at  second-hand  from  the  new  Aldine  edition 
of  Akenside,  published  by  Bell  and  Daldy.  From 
this  also  are  derived  the  additional  notes  to  the 
Miscellaneous  Poems,  p.  453. 

JUNE,  1864. 


I. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

LIFE  OF  AKENSIDE,  by  the  Rev.  A.  DYCE 9 

Appendix  to  the  Life  of  Akenside 109 

Advertisement  to  Mr.  Dyson's  Edition  of  Akenside's 

Poems  (1772) .113 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  IMAGINATION.    In  three  Books. 

The  Design 115 

-    Book  1 119 

II 140 

HI 166 

Notes  on  Book  1 188 

n 191 

III 194 

THE  PLEASURES  OF  THE  IMAGINATION.    On  an  enlarged 
plan. 

General  Argument 200 

Book  1 202 

II 227 

HI 251 

IV. 270 

ODES  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS.    In  two  Books. 

Book  I.    Ode  I.  Preface 275 

n.  On  the  Winter  Solstice 277' 

Ditto.    As  originally  written    .    .    .  28?* 

HI.  To  a  Friend  unsuccessful  in  Love      .  283 

IV.  Affected  Indifference 286 

V.  Against  Suspicion 287 

VI.  Hymn  to  Cheerfulness 289 

VII.  On  the  Use  of  Poetry 295 

VIII.  On  Leaving  Holland 297 

IX.  To  Curio 800 

X.  To  the  Muse -    .    .  307 


6  CONTENTS. 

ODES  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS,  continued. 

Page 

Book  I.  Ode  XL  On  Love,  to  a  Friend  ......  308 

XII.  To  Sir  Francis  Henry  Drake,  Bar';.    .  311 

XIII.  On  Lyric  Poetry      .......  314 

XIV.  To  the  Hon.  Charles  Townshend  .    .  319 
XV.  To  the  Evening  Star    ......  321 

XVI.  To  Caleb  Hardinge,  M.D  .....  324 

XVII.  On  a  Sermon  against  Glory  ....  326 

XVHI.  To  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon  ....  327 

Book  II.   Ode  I.  The  Remonstrance  of  Shakespeare    .  337 

II.  To  Sleep     ..........  341 

III.  To  the  Cuckoo    ........  343 

IV.  To  the  Hon.  Charles  Townshend  .    .  345 
V.  On  Love  of  Praise  .......  352 

VI.  To  William  Hall,  Esq  .......  353 

VII.  To  the  Bishop  of  Winchester     ...  355 

vin  ...............  359 

IX.  At  Study    ..........  360 

X.  To  Thomas  Edwards,  Esq.    .    .    .    .  361 

XL  To  the  Country  Gentlemen  of  England  364 

XII.  On  recovering  from  a  Fit  of  Sickness  371 
XIH.  To  the  Author  of  Memoirs  of  the 

House  of  Brandenburgh    .    .    .  374 

XIV.  The  Complaint    ........  376 

XV.  On  Domestic  Manners  ......  377 


^Jpin 


Notes  on  the  Two  Books  of  Odes  .........  379 

Hymn  to  the  Naiads     .............  382 

Notes  on  the  Hymn  to  the  Naiads  .........  394 

scriptions     ................  401 

An  Epistle  to  Curio      .............  409 

^JftrTirtuoso  ................  421 

Ambition  and  Content.    A  Fable  .........  425 

The  Poet.    A  Rhapsody  ............  429 

A  British  Philippic  ..............  435 

Hymn  to  Science     .........    .....  441 

Love,  an  Elegy    ............  «...  445 

To  Cordelia  .................  450 

Song    ..................  451 

Additional  Notes  to  the  Miscellaneous  Poems  ....  453 


LIFE  OF  AKENSIDE. 


THE 


LIFE     OF     AKENSIDE. 


BY   THE   REV.   ALEXANDER  DYCE. 

MARK  AKENSIDE  2  was  born  at  Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne,  November  9th,  1721,  and  was  baptized  on 
the  30th  of  the  same  month  by  the  minister  of  a 
meeting-house,  which  his  parents  used  to  frequent.8 
His  father,  Mark,  was  a  respectable  butcher.  His 
mother's  maiden  name  was  Mary  Lumsden.  He 
was  their  second  son.  It  is  said  that  in  after-life 
he  was  ashamed  of  the  lowness  of  his  birth,  which 

1  During  the  earlier  years  of  his  life,  the  poet  spelt  his 
name,  both  on  the  title-pages  of  his  publications  and  in  his 
letters,  Akinside;  but  at  a  later  period  he  adopted  the  form 
Akenside. 

2  "Mark  Akenside,  born  the  9th  November,  1721;  bap 
tized  ye  30th  of  the  same  month  by  the  Eev.  Mr.  Benjamin 
Bennet."  —  History  of  Newcastle,  ii.  513,  by  Brand,  who  adds  : 

*  "The  above  was  communicated  by  Mr.  Addison,  glazier  at 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  who  married  Dr.  Akenside's  sister,  and 
is  in  possession  of  some  drawings,  which  were  the  works  of 
that  ingenious  poet  in  an  early  period  of  his  life.  Mr.  Bennet 
was  a  dissenting  minister  at  the  new  rneeting-house  in  Hanover 
Square,  Newcastle-upon-Tyne." 

8  According  to  the  Biogr.  Brit.,  Akenside's  "parents  and 
relations  were  in  general  of  the  Presbyterian  persuasion." 
B 


10  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

was  constantly  brought  to  his  recollection  by  a 
lameness,  originating  in  a  cut  on  his  foot  from  the 
fall  of  his  father's  cleaver,  when  he  was  about  seven 
years  old.1 

After  receiving  some  instruction  at  the  free- 
school  of  Newcastle,  he  was  sent  to  a  private  aca 
demy  in  the  same  town,  kept  by  a  Mr.  Wilson,  a 
dissenting  minister. 

His  genius  and  his  love  of  poetry  were  mani 
fested,  while  he  was  yet  a  school-boy.  The 
Gentleman's  Magazine  For  April,  1737,  contains 
one  of  his  earliest  attempts  at  versification,  enti 
tled  "  The  Virtuoso,  in  imitation  of  Spenser's  style 
and  stanza : "  2  it  is  far  superior  to  the  sing-song 
inanities  which  in  those  days  generally  adorned 
the  pages  of  that  miscellany,  and  is  prefaced  thus 
by  a  letter  to  the  editor :  — 

"  Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  April  23. 
"  I  hope,  Sir,  you'll  excuse  the  following  Poem 
(being  the  performance  of  one  in  his   sixteenth 
year),  and  insert  it  in  your  next  Magazine,  which 

will  oblige,  Yours,  &c. 

"  MARCUS." 

To  the  same  popular  work  he  contributed,  in  the 
next  month,  an  ingenious  fable  called  "  Ambition 

1  Brand's  Obs.  on  Pop.  Antiq.  114,  ed.  1777. 

2  Gent.  Mag.  vii.  244.  —  Mr.  Bucke  thinks  it  was  suggested 
by  a  passage  in  Shaftesbury's  Characteristics,  iii.  156,  ed.  1737. 
—  Life  of  Akenside,  5. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  11 

and  Content ; l  and,  in  July  following, "  The  Poet, 
a  Rhapsody."  2 

When  about  the  age  of  seventeen,  Akenside 
used  to  visit  some  relations  at  Morpeth,  where  it 
has  been  rather  hastily  supposed  that  he  wrote  his 
"  Pleasures  of  Imagination." 8  Passages  of  it 
were  probably  composed  there:  at  various  times 
and  places,  during  several  years  before  its  publi 
cation,  that  great  work  had,  no  doubt,  occupied  his 
mind.  In  a  fragment  of  the  fourth  book  of  the 
remodelled  copy,  he  pleasingly  describes  his  early 
sensibility  to  the  beauties  of  nature,  and  his  lonely 
wanderings  in  the  vicinity  both  of  Newcastle  and 

of  Morpeth:  — 

"0  ye  dales 

Of  Tyne,  and  ye  most  ancient  woodlands,  where 
Oft  as  the  giant  flood  obliquely  strides, 
And  his  banks  open,  and  his  lawns  extend, 
Stops  short  the  pleased  traveller  to  view, 
Presiding  o'er  the  scene  some  rustic  tower 
Founded  by  Norman  or  by  Saxon  hands  ; 

0  ye  Northumbrian  shades,  which  overlook 
The  rocky  pavement  and  the  mossy  falls 
Of  solitary  Wensbeck's  limpid  stream; 
How  gladly  I  recall  your  well  known  seats 
Belov'd  of  old,  and  that  delightful  tune 
When  all  alone,  for  many  a  summer's  day, 

1  wander'd  through  your  calm  recesses,  led 
In  silence  by  some'  powerful  'hand  unseen." 

To  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  August,  1738,4 
he  communicated  "  A  British  Philippic,  occasioned 

1  Gent.  Mag.  vii.  309.          2  ibid.  vii.  441.          8  Biog.  Brit 
4  viii.  427,  where  it  is  signed  "  Britannicus." 


12  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

by  the  insults  of  the  Spaniards,  and  the  present 
preparations  for  war."  That  its  flaming  patriotism 
was  quite  to  the  taste  of  Mr.  Urban,  appears  from 
the  following  advertisement :  — 

"  N.  B.  It  often  turning  to  our  Inconvenience 
to  sell  a  greater  Number  of  one  Magazine  than  of 
another,  and  believing  the  above  noble-spirited 
Poem  will  be  acceptable  to  many,  not  our  constant 
Readers,  we  have  printed  it  in  Folio,  Price  Six 
Pence,  together  with  the  Motto  at  large,  for  which, 
receiving  the  Manuscript  late,  we  could  not  make 
room.  And  if  the  ingenious  Author  will  inform 
us  how  we  may  direct  a  Packet  to  his  Hands,  we 
will  send  him  our  Acknowledgments  for  so  great 
a  Favour,  with  a  Parcel  of  the  Folio  Edition." 

His  "  Hymn  to  Science "  was  printed  in  the 
Gentleman's  Magazine  for  October,  1739.1  It  is 

1  ix.  544,  where  it  is  dated  "  Newcastle-upon-Tyne."  Mr. 
Bucke,  not  aware  of  this,  supposes  that  it  was  written  at  Ed 
inburgh.  He  pronounces  it  to  be  "  worthy  the  lyre  of  Collins," 
to  whose  imaginative  odes  it  bears  no  resemblance,  and,  after 
quoting  the  two  following  stanzas,  exclaims,  "  Has  Horace  or 
Gray  any  thing  superior  to  this?"  I  confidently  answer, — 
many  things  infinitely  superior: 

"  That  last  best  effort  of  thy  skill, 
To  form  the  life  and  rule  the  will, 

Propitious  Power!  impart: 
Teach  me  to  cool  my  passion's  fires, 
Make  me  the  judge  of  my  desires, 

The  muster  of  my  heart. 

"Raise  me  above  the  vulgar's  breath, 
Pursuit  of  fortune,  fear  of  death, 
And  all  iu  life  that's  mean: 
Still  true  to  reason  be  my  plan, 
Still  let  my  actions  speak  the  man, 
Through  every  various  scene." 

Life  (/.Ataufcle,  19. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  13 

doubtless  a  production  of  considerable  merit ;  but 
Mr.  Bucke  is  probably  the  only  reader  whom  it 
ever  moved  to  rapturous  admiration. 

Our  poet  was  about  eighteen  years  of  age  when 
he  was  sent  to  Edinburgh,  with  some  pecuniary 
assistance  from  the  Dissenters'  Society,  that  he 
might  qualify  himself  for  the  office  of  one  of  their 
ministers ;  but,  after  pursuing  the  requisite  studies 
for  one  winter,  he  changed  his  mind  with  respect 
to  a  profession,  entered  himself  a  medical  student,1 
and  repaid  the  contribution  which  he  had  received 
from  the  Dissenters.  "  Whether,"  says  Johnson, 
"  when  he  resolved  not  to  be  a  dissenting  minister, 
he  ceased  to  be  a  dissenter,  I  know  not.  He  cer 
tainly  retained  an  unnecessary  and  outrageous  zeal 
for  what  he  called  and  thought  jiberty ;  a  zeal 
which  sometimes  disguises  from  the  world,  and  not 
rarely  from  the  mind  which  it  possesses,  an  envious 
desire  of  plundering  wealth  or  degrading  greatness ; 
and  of  which  the  immediate  tendency  is  innovation 

In  the  same  volume  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  p.  153,  is 
an  imitation  of  Horace,  Ode  I.  B.  iii.,  signed  "  M.  A."  Qy.  Is 
it  by  Akenside  ? 

When  the  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination  "  appeared,  the  editor 
of  the  Gent.  Mag.  gave  an  extract  from  that  poem,  headed  by 
an  announcement  that  it  was  written  by  the  author  of  the 
"British  Philippic"  and  the  "Hymn  to  Science,"  xiv.  219. 
Both  pieces  were  reprinted  in  the  third  vol.  of  Pearch's  Coll. 
of  Poems. 

i  In  a  letter  written  from  Newcastle  in  1742  (which  will  be 
afterwards  given),  he  calls  himself  "  Surgeon." 


14  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

and  anarchy,  an  impetuous  eagerness  to  subvert 
and  confound,  with  very  little  care  what  shall  be 
established."  * 

At  Edinburgh  he  was  elected  a  member  of  the 
Medical  Society,  December  30th,  1740,2  and  be 
came  acquainted  with  several  persons  of  his  own 
age,  who  afterwards  rose  to  eminence ;  but  though, 
during  his  residence  there,  he  prosecuted  the  study 
of  medicine,8  we  learn  from  the  following  authentic 
statement  that  he  wras  by  no  means  satisfied  with 
his  new  profession,  and  thirsted  for  a  celebrity  very 
different  from  that  which  its  most  successful  prac 
tice  could  confer.  "  Akenside,"  says  the  late 
Dugald  Stewart,  "  when  a  student  at  Edinburgh, 
was  a  member  of  the  Medical  Society,  then  recently 
formed,  and  was  eminently  distinguished  by  the 
eloquence  which  he  displayed  in  the  course  of  the 
debates.  Dr.  Robertson  (who  was  at  that  time  a 
student  of  divinity  in  the  same  university)  told  me 
that  he  was  frequently  led  to  attend  their  meetings, 
chiefly  to  hear  the  speeches  of  Akenside,  the  great 
object  of  whose  ambition  then  was  a  seat  in  Parlia 
ment  ;  a  situation  which,  he  was  sanguine  enough 
to  flatter  himself,  he  had  some  prospect  of  obtain 
ing,  and  for  which  he  conceived  his  talents  to  be 

1  Life  of  Akenside. 

2  Anderson's  Life  of  Akenside.  —  Brit.  Poets,  ix.  725. 

3  Mr.  Bucke  says  that  Akenside  "  seems  to  have  made  great 
progress"  in  his  medical  studies  at  Edinburgh  (Life  of  Aken 
side,  16);  and,  in  quoting  from  Stewart  the  passage  which  I 
have  given  above,  he  omits  the  concluding  sentence. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  15 

much  better  adapted  than  for  the  profession  he  had 
chosen.  In  this  opinion  he  was  probably  in  the 
right,  as  he  was  generally  considered  by  his  fellow- 
students  as  far  inferior  in  medical  science  to  several 
of  his  companions."  l  To  the  ardour  of  youth,  and 
the  consciousness  of  high  endowments,  we  ought 
probably  to  attribute  such  ambitious  dreams ;  and 
we  may  suppose,  that,  as  judgment  ripened  with 
maturer  years,  they  faded  gradually  away. 

At  Edinburgh  he  composed  his  ode  "On  the( 
Winter  Solstice,"  dated  1740,  which  he  soon  after/ 
re-wrote  and  amplified.  He  is  said 2  to  have  ori-l 
ginally  printed  it  with  another  juvenile  production,! 
tt  Love,  an  Elegy,"  for  distribution  among  hisl 


1  Elem.  of  the  Phil,  of  the  Human  Mind  (Notes),  iii.  501, 
4to.    The  author  is  led  to  give  the  above  anecdote  by  having 
quoted  in  his  text  (p.  342)  the  following  lines  in  Akenside's 
Ode  to  Sleep,  where,  he  observes,  the  poet  "  has  very  beauti 
fully  touched  upon  the  history  of  his  own  mind: "  — 

"  The  figur'd  brass,  the  choral  song, 
The  rescued  people's  glad  applause, 
The  listening  Senate,  and  the  laws 
Fix'd  by  the  counsels  of  Timoleon's  tongue, 
Are  scenes  too  grand  for  fortune's  private  ways ; 
And  though  they  shine  in  youth's  ingenuous  view, 
The  sober  gainful  arts  of  modern  days 
To  such  romantic  thoughts  have  bid  a  long  adieu." 

2  Biog.  Brit.  —  In  the  Ad.  and  Cor.  to  the  first  vol.  we  are 
told  that  "  Love  "  "  afterwards  appeared  in  the  first  edition  of 
Dodsley's  Collection,  but  was  omitted  in  succeeding  editions 
by  Akenside's  desire."    It  certainly  is  not  in  the  first  edition 
of  that  work,  3  vols.  1748,  but  may  have  been  inserted  in  some 
early  edition  of  those,  or  the  subsequently-published  volumes, 
which  I  have  not  seen :  it  was  printed  hi  the  third  volume  of 
Pearch's  Coll.  of  Poems. 


16  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

friends.  His  lines  "  To  Cordelia" x  bear  the  same 
date. 

We  are  told  by  Akenside's  biographers,  that, 
after  staying  three  years  at  Edinburgh,  he  removed 
to  Leyden  for  the  advancement  of  his  medical 
studies ;  —  that  he  remained  there  two  (according 
to  others,  three)  years,  till  he  had  taken  his  degree 
of  Doctor  of  PhySic  in  1744;  —  that  he  there 
formed  an  intimacy  with  his  future  patron,  Mr. 
Jeremiah  Dyson,2  then  a  student  of  law  at  the  same 
university,  and  returned  with  him  to  England  — 
(they  "  embarked,"  according  to  Mr.  Bucke's  8  par 
ticular  account,  "  in  the  same  vessel  at  Rotterdam, 
and  arrived  safely  in  London,  after  an  agreeable 
but  protracted  voyage  !  ")  ;  —  and  that  the  "  Plea 
sures  of  Imagination"  was  published  soon  after  the 
poet's  arrival  in  England.  I  shall  presently  show 
that  Akenside's  first  and  only  visit  to  Leyden  was 
in  1744,  and  subsequent  to  the  appearance  of  his 
great  work ;  and  that  he  and  Mr.  Dyson  were 
never  in  Holland  at  the  same  time. 

Having  completed  his  studies  in  the  Scottish 
capital,  Akenside  appears  to  have  returned  to  his 
native  town  in  1741.  Next  year,  he  addressed 
the  following  remarkable  letter4  to  Mr.  Dyson,  a 
young  gentleman  of  fortune,  with  whom  perhaps 

1  I  find  them  in  an  excellent  American  edition  of  his  Works, 
2  vols.  New  Brunswick,  New  Jersey,  1808. 

2  On  the  authority,  I  suppose,  of  Sir  John  Hawkins.  —  Life 
of  Johnson,  233,  243,  ed.  1787. 

8  Life  of  Akenside,  24.  *  Now  first  published. 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  17 

he  had  become  acquainted  during  his  residence  in 
Edinburgh :  — 

"  Newcastle-upon-Tyne,  y  18th  of  Aug8*,  1742. 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  been  long  expecting  to 
hear  from  you  since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  on  the  road ;  but  your  letter  has  either  mis- 
carry'd,  or  has  been  prevented  perhaps  by  some 
unexpected  affairs  ingaging  you  after  your  arrival 
at  London  longer  than  you  suppos'd.  Upon  either 
of  these  cases,  I  should  not  have  delay'd  to  begin 
a  correspondence  sooner,  but  that  I  knew  not  how 
to  direct  for  you.  Our  acquaintance,  Mr.  Ander 
son,  has  just  now  inform'd  me ;  and  I  take  the 
opportunity  of  his  journey  to  London  to  send  you 
this.  For,  where  there  is  a  real  esteem  and  affec 
tion,  it  is  certainly  extremely  absurd  to  act  accord 
ing  to  those  precisenesses  of  form  and  punctuality, 
which  in  some  matters  may  prevent  inconvenience, 
but  can  never  regulate  the  mind,  and  have  no 
connection  with  the  free  inclinations  of  one  who 
would  be  a  friend.  The  very  opportunity  of 
knowing  a  person  of  a  desirable  character  is  the 
means  of  no  slight  enjoyment ;  but  the  prospect  of 
contracting  a  friendship  in  such  a  case  brings  the 
pleasure  much  nearer  home,  and  promises  a  kind 
of  property  in  those  things  which  all  men  look 
upon  with  honor  and  good  wishes.  If  you  will 
excuse  me  for  being  thus  selfish,  I  sincerely  and 
heartily  offer  you  my  friendship ;  and  tho'  in  such 


18  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

a  compact,  where  there  are  no  articles  of  obliga 
tion,  nothing  stipulated,  nothing  impos'd,  it  be  not 
very  becoming  to  promise  too  much,  yet  I  think 
one  may  venture  to  ingage  for  himself,  that  he  is 
capable  of  being  a  friend  :  for  tho'  in  our  voluntary 
affairs  this  be  indeed  the  main  article,  yet  it 
luckily  happens  that  this  pretension,  like  all  those 
that  regard  the  heart  and  will,  is  neither  difficult 
to  be  made  good,  nor  liable  to  the  censure  of  vani 
ty  ;  quite  differently  from  all  pretensions  to  what 
is  valuable  in  the  understanding,  or  in  any  other 
respect  of  nature  or  fortune. 

*'  Mr.  Anderson  says  he  was  told  you  had  been 
somewhat  indispos'd  since  you  got  home.  I  hope 
you  are  by  this  time  perfectly  strong  and  healthy, 
so  as  to  continue  without  fear  in  your  resolution  of 
spending  next  winter  at  Leyden.  I  heartily  wish 
I  could  spend  it  with  you,  but  am  as  yet  unde- 
termin'd.  Mr.  Archer,  besides  next  winter  at 
Edinburgh,  intends,  I  hear,  to  pass  another  with 
Mr.  Hucheson :  in  my  opinion  he  putts  off  his 
settling  in  business  too  late,  if  he  spend  as  many 
years  as  he  talks  of  in  an  academical  way.  It  was 
always  my  desire  to  be  fix'd  in  life,  as  they  say,  as 
soon  as  I  could,  consistently  with  the  attainments 
necessary  to  what  I  should  profess. 

"  A  letter  from  you,  whenever  you  are  at  leisure, 
will  be  extremely  welcome :  you  will  direct  it  to 
be  left  at  Mr.  Akenside's,  Surgeon,  in  Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  19 

"  I  desire  you  to  excuse  this  blotted  scrawl ;  it 
is  past  midnight,  and  Mr.  Anderson  goes  away 
early  to-morrow.  I  am,  Sir,  with  the  greatest 
esteem  and  sincerity,  your  very  affectionate  and 
obedient  servant,  "  MARK  AKINSIDE." 

This  letter  was  the  prelude  to  av  friendship 
memorable  for  the  fervour  and  the  constancy  witlr 
which  it  was  maintained  on  both  sides,  as  well  as 
for  its  beneficial  results  to  the  poet.  At  the  time 
it  was  written,  I  apprehend  that  Akenside  was 
busily  occupied  in  the  composition  of  the  great 
didactic  poem,  over  which  his  genius  seems  to  have 
brooded  even  from  his  boyish  days ;  and  that, 
though  he  styles  himself  "  Surgeon,"  he  had  not 
commenced  any  regular  practice  in  that  capacity. 

MrT  Pysgn's  "^'H'lti^n  of  spending  next  winter 
at  Leyden,"  in  order  to  prosecute  the  study  of  civil 
law,  was  carried  into  effect.  On  his  return  to 
England,  in  1743,1  he  entered  himself  at  one  of 
the  Inns  of  Court  (I  believe,  Lincoln's  Inn),  and, 
in  due  time,  was  called  to  the  bar. 

The  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination "  being  now 
ready  for  the  press,  we  may  suppose  that  Aken 
side  brought  the  precious  manuscript  to  London 
about  the  middle,  or  towards  the  close,  of  1743. 
"  I  have  heard,"  says  Johnson,  "  Dodsley  relate, 

l  As  appears  from  a  letter  of  Professor  Alberti  to  him, 
dated  December  1st,  1743,  in  the  possession  of  his  son,  J. 
Dyson,  Esq. 


20  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

that,  when  the  copy  was  offered  him,  the  price 
demanded  for  it,  which  was  a  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds,  being  such  as  he  was  not  inclined  to  give 
precipitately,  he  carried  the  work  to  Pope,  who, 
having  looked  into  it,  advisee!  him  not" to  "make 
a  niggardly  offer ;  for  *  this  was  no  every-day 
writer.'"1  In  consequence  of  this  imprimatur 
from  Twickenham,  the  work  was  published  by 
Dodsley  in  January,  1744.2/  Notwithstanding  its 

1  Johnson's  Life  of  Akenside.          , 

2  Quarto,  price  4s.:   see  the  Daily  Post  for  January  16, 
1744.    Mr.  Bucke  says  it  was  printed  by  Richardson,  the  cele 
brated  novelist:  a  letter  addressed  to  him  by  Akenside  will  be 
afterwards  given,  and  is,  I  suspect,  Mr.  Bucke's  sole  authority 
for  such  an  assertion !     The  motto  on  the  title-page  is  'A<7f/3oi)f 

(IfV    £CTLV     avOptJTTOV     TUf     TTClpa    TOV     QeOV     ^aOiTCf     UTl/J,d^ELV. 

EpicL  apud  Arrian,  ii.  23.  A  second  edition,  8vo,  price  2s.  is 
announced  in  the  Gent.  Mag.  for  May  next.  In  a  copy  of  the 
first  edition  (now  in  the  British  Museum),  pi-esented  by  Aken- 
side  to  Dyson,  is  the  following  MS.  dedication,  which  probably 
the  modesty  of  the  latter  would  not  allow  to  appear  in  print :  — 

"  Tiro  conjunctissimo 

Jeremiae  Dyson, 

Vitae  morumque  suorum  duci, 

Rerum  bonarum  socio, 

Studiorum  judici, 

Cujus  amicitia 

Neque  sanctius  habet  quicquam, 
Neque  optat  carius, 
Ilocce  opusculum 

(Vos,  0  tyrannorum  hnpurse  laudes 
Et  servilium  blandimenta  poetarurn, 

Abeste  procul !) 
Dat,  dicat,  consecratque 

Marcus  Akinside, 
xvii.  Calendar  Jan.  A.  &..  c.  MDCCXLIV." 

This  dedication  was  not  first  printed  by  Mr.  Bucke,  as  that 
gentleman  supposes:  it  had  previously  appeared  hi  Beloe'y 
Anecdotes,  vol.  i. 

"  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination "  was  published  anony- 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  21 

metaphysical  subject,  so  little  adapted  to  the  taste 
of  common  readers,  this  splendid  production  was 
received  with  an  applause l  which  at  once  raised 


mously.  Johnson  told  Boswell,  that,  when  it  originally  came 
out,  Rolt  (a  now  forgotten  author)  went  over  to  Dublin,  and 
published  an  edition  of  it  in  his  own  name ;  upon  the  fame 
of  which  he  lived  for  several  months,  being  entertained  at 
the  best  tables  as  "  the  ingenious  Mr.  Holt;  "  and  that  Akenside, 
having  been  informed  of  this  imposition,  vindicated  his  right 
by  publishing  the  poem  with  its  real  author's  name.  Boswell 
adds  in  a  note,  "  I  have  had  enquiry  made  in  Ireland  as  to  this 
story,  but  do  net  find  it  recollected  there.  I  give  it  on  the 
authority  of  Dr.  Johnson,  to  which  may  be  added  that  of 
the  Biographical  Dictionary  and  Biographia  Dramatica,  in 
both  of  which  it  has  stood  many  years.  Mr.  Malone  observes, 
that  the  truth  probably  is,  not  that  an  edition  was  published 
with  Rolfs  name  in  the  title-page,  but  that,  the  poem  being 
then  anonymous,  Rolt  acquiesced  in  its  being  attributed  to 
him  in  conversation."  —  Life  of  Johnson,  i.  342,  ed.  1816. 

1  Gray,  however,  who  was  not  yet  known  to  the  world  as  a 
poet,  passed  a  depreciating  criticism  on  it  in  a  letter  to  Dr. 
Wharton,  from  Cambridge,  April  26,  1744 :  "  You  desire  to 
know,  it  seems,  what  character  the  poem  of  your  young  friend 
bears  here.  I  wonder  that  you  ask  the  opinion  of  a  nation 
where  those  who  pretend  to  judge  do  not  judge  at  all :  and  the 
rest  (the  wiser  part)  wait  to  catch  the  judgment  of  the  world 
immediately  above  them,  that  is,  Dick's  and  the  Rainbow 
Coifee  Houses.  Your  readier  way  would  be  to  ask  the  ladies 
that  keep  the  bars  in  those  two  theatres  of  criticism.  However, 
to  show  you  that  I  am  a  judge,  as  well  as  my  countrymen,  I  will 
tell  you,  though  I  have  rather  turned  it  over  than  read  it  (but 
no  matter;  no  more  have  they),  that  it  seems  to  me  above  the 
middling;  and  now  and  then,  for  a  little  while,  rises  even  to 
the  best,  particularly  in  description.  It  is  often  obscure,  and 
even  unintelligible,  and  too  much  infected  with  the  Hutchinson 
jargon.  In  short,  its  great  fault  is,  that  it  was  published  at 
least  nine  years  too  early.  And  so  methinks  in  a  few  words, 
4  &  la  mode  du  Temple,'  I  have  pertly  dispatched  what  perhaps 


22  LIFE    OF    AKENS1DE. 

the  author,  who  had  only  completed  his  twenty- 
third  year,  to  a  distinguished  station  among  the 
poets  of  the  day.")  When  it  first  appeared,  Pope 
AYUS  sinking  under  the  malady,  which,  a  few  months 
after,  removed  him  from  the  poetic  throne ;  Swift 
was  still  alive,  but  in  the  stupor  of  idiotcy  ;  Thom 
son  had  won  by  "  The  Seasons "  an  unfading 
laurel,  to  which  he  was  destined  to  add  another 
wreath  by  "  The  Castle  of  Indolence ; "  Young 
was  in  the  fulness  of  fame,  though  the  four  con 
cluding  portions  of  the  "  Night  Thoughts  "  were 
yet  unpublished;  Glover  enjoyed  a  very  high 
reputation  from  "  Leonidas  ; "  Johnson  was  known 
only  as  the  author  of  an  admired  satire,  "  Lon 
don  ; "  Dyer  had  put  forth  "  Grongar  Hill,"  and 
"  The  Ruins  of  Rome,"  with  little  success,  —  his 
"Fleece"  was  yet  to  come;  Collins  had  vainly 
endeavoured  to  attract  notice  by  his  "  Eclogues  " 
and  "  Epistle  to  Hanmer,"  —  his  "  Odes  "  being 
of  a  later  date ;  Shenstone  had  produced  little,  but 
among  that  little  wras  "  The  Schoolmistress ; " 
Blair  had  published  "  The  Grave ; "  and  Arm 
strong,  who  had  only  a  disgraceful  notoriety  from 
a  licentious  poem,1  was  soon  to  rival  Akenside 
as  a  didactic  writer. 

may  for  several  years  have  employed  a  very  ingenious  man 
worth  fifty  of  myself."  —  Mason's  Memoirs  of  Gray,  178,  ed. 
1775.  His  still  more  unfavourable  opinion  of  some  of  Aken- 
side's  minor  poems  will  be  afterwards  cited. 

1  The  "  Economy  of  Love."  His  "  Art  of  Preserving 
Health"  was  published  in  April,  1744:  see  the  Daily  Post  for 
the  12th  of  that  month. 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  28 

The  applause  which  hailed  the  first  appearance, 
of  "  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination  "  had  scarcely 
subsided,  when  Akenside  found  that  he  had  roused 
an  adversary  of  formidable  powers.  Having 
adopted  the  opinion  of  Lord  Shaftesbury,  that 
ridicule  is  the  test  of  truth,  he  had  annexed  to  a 
passage  in  the  third  book  of  his  poem  a  long  note 
on  the  subject,  in  which  T^arburton  chose  to  dis 
cover  an  offensive  allusion  to »  himself!  W  hen, 
therefore,  that  mighty  dogmatist,  about  two  months 
•  after,  put  forth  his  "  Remarks  on  Several  Occa 
sional  Reflections,  in  answer  to  Dr.  Middleton," 
&C.,1  he  devoted  to  Akenside  the  whole  of  a  sneer 
ing  and  caustic  Preface,2  which  opens  thus :  —  "In 
the  Prefatory  Discourse  to  the  first  volume  of  the 
D.  [ivine]  L.  [egation],  I  spoke  pretty  largely  of 
the  Use  of  Ridicule  in  religious  subjects,  as  the 
Abuse  of  it  is  amongst  the  fashionable  arts  of 
Free-thinking,  for  which  I  have  been  just  now 
call'd  to  account,  without  any  ceremony,  by  the 
nameless  author  of  a  poem  entitled  '  The  Plea 
sures  of  Imagination.'  For  'tis  my  fortune  to  be 
still  concerned  with  those  who  either  do  go  masked, 

1  Published  in  March,  1744 :  see  the  Daily  Post  for  the  16th 
of  that  month. 

2  This  Preface  was  afterwards  reprinted,  with  some  slight 
alterations,  as  a  "Postscript  to  the  Dedication  to  the  Free 
thinkers,"  in  a  new  edition  of  the  "  Divine  Legation  of  Moses." 
Both  Mr.  D'Israeli  (Quarrels  of  Authors,  i.  97)  and  Mr.  Bucke 
(Life  of  Akenside,  37)  seem  not  to  know  where  Warburton's 
attack  on  the  poet  originally  appeared. 


24  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

or  those  who  should.  I  am  a  plain  man,  and,  on 
my  first  appearance  in  this  way,  I  told  my  name 
and  who  I  belonged  to.  After  this,  if  men  will 
rudely  come  upon  me  in  disguise,  they  can  have 
no  reason  to  complain,  that  (in  my  ignorance  of 
their  characters)  I  treat  them  all  alike  upon  the 
same  free  footing  they  have  put  themselves.  This 
gentleman,  a  follower  of  Ld.  S.[haftesbury],  and, 
as  it  should  seem,  one  of  those  to  whom  that  Pre 
face  was  addressed,  —  certainly  one  of  those  to 
whom  I  applied  the  words  of  Turfy,  Non  decet,  non  * 
datum  est ;  who  affect  wit  and  raillery  on  subjects 
not  .iieet,  and  with  talents  unequal,  —  this  gentle 
man,  I  say,  in  the  105th  and  106th  pages  of  his 
Poem,  animadverts  upon  me  in  the  following 
manner :  '  Since  it  is,'  says  he,  '  beyond  all  con 
tradiction]  evident  that  we  have  a  natural  sense  or 
feeling  of  the  ridiculous,  and  since  so  good  a  reason 
may  be  assigned  to  justify  the  Supreme  Being  for 
bestowing  it,  one  cannot,  without  astonishment, 
reflect  on  the  conduct  of  those  men  who  imagine  it 
for  the  service  of  true  religion  to  vilify  and  blacken 
it  without  distinction,  and  endeavour  to  persuade  us 
that  it  is  never  applied  but  in  a  bad  cause.' "  War- 
burton  then  proceeds  to  a  very  minute  examination 
of  the  obnoxious  note : 1  he  insinuates  that  Ak en- 
side  is  a  deist,  even  a  favourer  of  atheism ;  and, 
though  he  attacks  his  philosophy,  and  not  his 

1  See  the  note  on  ver.  259  of  the  third  book  of  "  The  Plea 
sures  of  Imagination." 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  25 

poetry,  he  repeatedly  terms  him  "our  poet,"  in  a 
manner  truly  provoking.  In  conclusion,  he  asserts 
that  a  passage  in  the  third  book  of  the  poem  is  an 
insult  to  the  whole  body  of  the  clergy.1 

"  An  Epistle  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Warburton,  occa 
sioned  by  his  treatment  of  the  Author  of  the 
Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  appeared  about  six 
weeks  after  the  publication  which  had  called  it 
forth.2  Though  this  angry  letter,  which  displays 
considerable  ingenuity  of  argument,  without  much 
grace  of  style,  is  generally  attributed  to  the  friendly 
pen  of  Mr.  Dyson,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
the  greater  part  of  it  was  compose^  by  Akenr'^e.8 
The  following  quotation  forms  its  commence 
ment: — 

"  SIR,  —  Notwithstanding  the  pains  you  have 
taken  to  discourage  all  men  from  entering  into 
any  controversy  with  you,  and  notwithstanding 
the  severe  example  you  have  just  been  making 
of  one,  who,  as  you  fancied,  had  presumed  to  call 
you  to  account,  you  must  still  be  content  to  be 

1  "  Others  of  graver  mien,  behold,  adorn'd 
With  holy  ensigns,"  &c. 

2  Octavo,  price  6d.  Published  May  1st,  1744:  see  the 
Daily  Post  of  that  date.  The  motto  on  the  title  is,  "  Neque 
solum  quid  istum  audire,  verum  etiam  quid  me  deceat  dicere, 
considerabo."  —  Cic.  in  Verr.  It  consists  of  thirty  pages. 

8  In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Dyson  (see  p.  31  of  this  Memoir), 
Akenside  desires  "  a  copy  of  that  answer  to  Warburton,"  to  be 
sent  to  Holland.  If  it  had  been  entirely  the  work  of  his  loved 
(or  rather  adored)  friend,  would  he  have  mentioned  it  in  such 
terms? 


26  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

accountable  for  your  writings,  and  must  once  more 
bear  the  mortification  of  being  actually  called  to 
account  for  them. 

"'Tis  the  Preface  to  your  late  Remarks  that 
you  are  now  called  upon  to  justify ;  in  which  you 
have  thought  fit  to  treat  upon  a  mighty  free  footing 
(as  you  stile  it,  but,  in  the  apprehension  of  most 
people,  upon  a  very  injurious  one)  the  ingenious 
and  worthy  author  of  the  poem  entitled,  'The 
Pleasures  of  Imagination.'  The  favorable  recep 
tion  and  applause  that  performance  has  met  with 
render  it  unnecessary,  and  indeed  impertinent,  for 
me  to  enlarge  in  its  praise,  especially  as  you,  Sir, 
have  not  condescended  to  enter  into  a  particular 
censure  of  the  j>oein  :  however,  by  some  general 
hints  scattered  up  and  down,  as  well  as  by  the 
affectation  of  perpetually  stiling  the  author  our 
poet,  you  may  have  let  us  see  how  you  stand 
affected  towards  it.  Whether  it  be  indeed  that 
dull,  trivial,  useless  thing  you  seem  to  represent  it, 
I  shall  not  dispute  with  you ;  but  am  content  to 
leave,  as  to  this  point,  Mr.  W.'s  judgment  staked 
against  the  general  reputation  of  the  poem.  The 
point  I  am  immediately  concerned  with  is  your 
unbecoming  treatment  of  the  author,  which,  as  it 
is  so  interwoven  thro'  the  whole  course  of  your 
Preface,  as  to  be  sufficiently  evident,  without  the 
allegation  of  particular  passages,  so  we  shall  find 
there  are  not  wanting  repeated  instances  of  direct 
and  notorious  ill  usage;  such  usage,  as  tho'  the 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  27 

provocation  had  been  ever  so  just,  and  the  ima 
gined  attack  upon  you  ever  so  real,  would  yet 
have  been  unwarrantable ;  and  which,  therefore, 
can't  admit  of  the  least  shadow  of  an  excuse,  when 
it  shall  appear  that  you  had  really  no  provocation 
at  all.  For  the  very  fact  with  which  you  set  out, 
and  which  is  the  foundation,  I  suppose,  of  all  your 
indignation,  is  an  entire  mistake.  You  tell  us, 
you  have  been  just  now  called  to  account,  fyc.  This, 
I  say,  is  an  absolute  mistake.  And,  as  for  my 
own  part,  I  never  suspected  that  the  note  you  refer 
to  had  any  thing  personal  in  it,  so  I  am  authorized 
to  affirm  that  it  was  not  at  all  intended  personally." 

To  this  letter,  Warburton  returned  no  answer. 
In  the  remodelled  copy  of  his  poem,  Akenside 
reduced  into  a  comparatively  short  passage  the 
lines  which  treat  of  Ridicule,  and  which  were 
certainly  the  least  pleasing  portion  of  the  work. 
He  doubtless  writhed  under  Warburton's  vigorous 
attack,  for  which,  as  will  be  shown  in  the  course 
,of  this  memoir,  he,  long  after,  made  a  sort  of  re 
quital. 

Though  the  "  Epistle  to  Warburton "  appears 
not  to  have  been  published,  it  was  certainly  printed, 
before  Akenside  went  to  Leyden  for  the  purpose 
of  obtaining  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Physic.  This 
is  proved  by  an  allusion  to  it  in  the  first  of  the 
following  very  interesting  letters 1  to  his  beloved 
friend,  Mr.  Dyson.  The  erroneous  statement  of 
1  Now  first  published. 


28  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

his  biographers,  that  he  visited  Holland  at  an 
earlier  period  than  1744,  has  been  already  no 
ticed. 

"  Leyden,  April  7th,  N.  S.  1744. 

"  DEAR  DYSON,  —  At  last  I  am  in  a  condition 
to  recollect  myself  sufficiently  to  write  to  you. 
Ever  since  I  left  you,  I  have  been  from  hour  to 
hour  ingag'd  by  a  succession  of  most  trivial  cir 
cumstances,  and  yet  importunate  enough  to  force 
my  attention  from  those  objects  to  which  it  most 
naturally  and  habitually  inclines.  I  now  begin  to 
respire,  and  can  fancy  myself  at  Lincoln's  Inn, 
meeting  you  after  a  very  tedious  absence  of  eight 
days,  and  telling  the  little  occurrences  I  have  met 
with ;  a  story  in  other  respects  too  inconsiderable 
to  be  repeated ;  but  which,  in  repeating  it  to  my 
friend,  acquires  an  importance  superior  to  the 
annals  of  a  king's  posterity. 

"  I  went  on  board  from  Harwich  on  Thursday 
morning,  and  got  ashore  at  Helvoetsluys  just 
about  the  same  time  on  Saturday.  I  was  not  in 
the  least  sick.  I  am  now  settled  in  Roebuck's 
chamber,  the  same  house  with  Mr.  Drew  and 
Brocklesby.  This  last  was  the  only  one  of  my 
acquaintance  I  found  here ;  and  I  dare  say,  if  you 
were  now  to  return  to  Leyden,  you  would  think 
the  acquaintance  of  those  who  have  come  hither 
since  you  went  away,  very,  very  far  from  compen 
sating  the  loss  of  those  whose  conversation  you 
had  the  happiness  to  injoy.  There  are  not  above 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  29 

ten  or  twelve  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish  now  at 
Leyden. 

"  As  I  was  in  the  street  yesterday,  Mr.  Schwartz, 
who  had  been  told  by  somebody  or  other  that  I 
was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Dyson's,  came  up  to  me,  and 
inquir'd  very  affectionately  after  you.  I  am  just 
come  from  sitting  the  afternoon  with  him;  he 
could  hardly  talk  of  any  thing  but  you,  yet  com 
plains  that  you  neglect  to  write  to  him.  He  is 
uncertain  whether  he  shall  be  in  London  this  sum 
mer  or  not;  but  says  he  is  very  well  acquainted 
with  all  the  streets  there,  he  has  so  carefully 
studied  them  in  the  map.  I  love  the  good  nature 
and  simplicity  of  his  manners,  and  love  his  com 
pany  more  than  anybody's  in  Leyden ;  for  I  see 
that  whenever  we  are  together,  we  shall  fall  a 
talking  about  you  immediately. 

"I  have  been  with  Mr.  Gronovius1  and  the 
Doctor,  who  make  an  excellent  contrast,  both  as 
to  their  manners  and  studies ;  about  the  latter  of 
these,  they  are  constantly  rallying  and  joking  on 
each  other.  Mr.  Gronovius  shew'd  me  his  Nican- 
der,  about  which  he  has  taken  vast  pains.  He  has 
above  six  hundred  emendations  of  the  text^  and 
scholia,  but  wants  an  unpublish'd  paraphrase  of 
the  author,  which,  it  seems,  is  in  a  library  at 
Vienna.  He  talks  of  making  this  little  book  as 
large  as  his  last  -<Elian.  I  wish  you  could  get  the 

1  i.e.  Abraham  Gronovius.  The  "Nicander"  here  men 
tioned  was  never  published. 


30  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

Pindar,  which  I  hear  is  probably  by  this  time 
finish'd  at  Glasgow,  in  one  volume,  the  same  size 
and  type  with  the  Theophrastus.  Mr.  Brocklesby 
tells  me  of  an  edition  of  Shaftesbury  in  the  press 
at  Dublin,  with  new  copperplates  ;  to  which  a  fourth 
volume  will  be  added,  consisting  of  the  two  epis 
tolary  pamphlets  and  unpublish'd  letters  of  Ld. 
Molesworth  to  my1  master. 

"  I  will  not  spend  time  in  giving  you  my  senti 
ments  of  Holland  or  Leyden,  they  are  so  intirely 
the  same  with  what  you  express'd  to  me.  One 
thing  struck  me  very  strongly,  the  absurd  incon- 
sistence  between  their  ceremonious  foppishness 
(miscalled  politeness)  and  their  gross  insensibi 
lity  to  the  true  decorum  in  numberless  instances, 
especially  among  the  women.  Such  is  their  archi 
tecture,  their  painting,  their  music;  such  their 
dress,  the  furniture  of  their  houses,  the  air  of 
their  chariots,  and  the  countenance  of  their  polity, 
—  that,  when  I  think  of  England,  I  cannot  now 
help  paying  it  the  same  veneration  and  applause 
which  at  London  I  thought  due  only  to  Athens, 
to  Corinth,  or  to  Syracuse.  You,  who  know  Hol 
land,  will  excuse  me  for  talking  in  this  way,  after 
so  short  a  view  of  it  as  I  have  had ; 2  because  you 

1  An  allusion  to  the  Preface  to  "  Uemarks  on  Occasional 
Reflections,"  &c.,  in  which  Warburton  more  than  once  calls 
Shaftesbury  Akenside's  "  Master." 

2  This  passage  decidedly  proves  that  Akenside  had  not 
previously  visited  Holland. 


LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE.  31 

know  how  obvious  these  appearances  are,  and 
how  great  an  uniformity  runs  through  the  whole 
constitution  of  the  country,  natural  and  moral. 

"  Mr.  Ready  is  well,  and  sends  his  service ;  as 
do  all  your  other  acquaintances.  You  will  soon 
see  Mr.  Drew,  for  he  is  a  printing  his  Thesis,  and 
takes  London  in  his  way  home. 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  present  my  compliments  to 
Mrs.  Dyson,  Miss  Dyson,  and  all  the  rest  of  your 
friends  and  mine.  You  will  know  whom  I  mean 
without  a  list  of  them ;  only,  lest  you  should  not 
think  on  them,  allow  me  to  mention  Mr.  Ward  and 
Mr.  Ramsay.  And  pray  forget  not  to  make  my 
apology  to  Mr.  Pickering ;  for  I  utterly  forgot  to 
call  upon  him  at  my  leaving  London,  which  has 
since  vex'd  me  not  a  little. 

"Be  sure  you  write  to  me  immediately.  Let 
me  know  how  you  manage  about  the  Basilica,  and 
what  information  Mr.  Ramsay  has  given  you.  If 
you  call  at  Dodsley's,  he  will  give  you  a  copy  of 
that  answer  to  Warburton :  I  should  be  glad  if  you 
could  send  it  inclos'd  in  your  first  letter,  and  if  you 
could  give  me  your  opinion  about  Dr.  Armstrong's 
Poem.1  Write  me  a  very  long  letter,  and  direct  it 
to  Mc-Carthy's.  I  think  I  am  rather  freer  than  I 
should  have  been  if  boarding ;  tho',  heaven  knows, 
my  pleasure  at  noon  is  meerly  in  dining,  properly 
so  call'd.  Farewell,  my  friend,  my  good  genius ; 

i  The  Art  of  Preserving  Health. 


82  LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE. 

and,  above  all  things,  believe  me  for  ever  most 
affectionately,  most  intirely,  only  yours, 

"  M.  AKINSIDE." 

"Leyden,  April  17th,  N.  S.  1744. 
"DEAR  MR.  DYSON,  —  I  had  not  been  above 
four  days  at  Leyden  before  two  of  my  Edinburgh 
acquaintances,  Mr.  Austin  and  Mr.  Hume,  came 
hither  from  their  winter  quarters  at  Ghent,  to 
make  the  tour  of  Holland.  I  was  glad  of  the 
opportunity  to  go  along  with  them,  as  I  had  no 
prospect  of  any  company  so  desirable.  At  my 
return,  I  found  your  letter,  by  which  I  see  we  had 
been  writing  to  each  other  precisely  at  the  same 
time.  I  always  was  afraid  you  would  be  uneasy 
in  waiting  so  long  for  a  letter ;  and  indeed  I  should 
have  wrote  directly  from  Helvoetsluys,  but  for  a 
mistaken  supposition  that  the  post  went  from 
Leyden  on  Saturday  night,  and  that  consequently 
I  should  save  no  time  by  writing  before  I  got  to 
my  journey's  end.  Would  to  God  this  may  find 
you  perfectly  recover'd  and  in  free  spirits :  I  dare 
not,  I  cannot  suffer  my  imagination  to  conceive 
otherwise.  The  whole  day  after  we  parted,  I  was 
dreading  the  consequence  of  your  being  abroad 
in  so  damp  a  morning,  and  lodging  in  that  vile  inn, 
at  a  time  when  your  health  was  far  from  being 
confirm'd.  In  every  other  circumstance,  I  need 
not  tell  you  what  happiness  your  letter  gave  me. 
Believe  me,  my  dear,  my  honour'd  friend,  I  look 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  33 

upon  my  connection  with  you  as  the  most  fortunate 
circumstance  of  my  life.  I  never  think  of  it 
without  being  happier  and  better  for  the  reflection. 
I  injoy,  by  means  of  it,  a  more  animated,  a  more 
perfect  relish  of  every  social,  of  every  natural 
pleasure.  My  own  character,  by  means  of  it,  is 
become  an  object  of  veneration  and  applause  to 
myself.  My  sense  of  the  perfection  and  goodness 
of  the  Supreme  Being  is  nobler  and  more  affecting. 
It  is  that  good,  that  beauty,  with  which  my  mind  is 
fill'd,  and  which  serves  as  a  sacred  antidote  against 
the  influence  of  that  moral  evil  which  is  in  the 
world,  when  it  would  perplex  and  distress  me.  It 
has  the  force  of  an  additional  conscience,  of  a  new 
principle  of  religion ;  nor  do  I  remember  one 
instance  of  moral  good  or  evil  offer'd  to  my  choice 
of  late,  in  which  the  idea  of  your  mind  and  man 
ners  did  not  come  in  along  with  the  essential 
beauty  of  virtue  and  the  sanction  of  the  divine 
laws  to  guide  and  determine  me.  It  has  inlarg'd 
my  knowledge  of  human  nature,  and  ascertain'd 
my  ideas  of  the  oeconomy  of  the  universe.  In 
whatever  light  I  consider,  with,  whatever  principle 
or  sensation  I  compare  it,  it  still  continues  to  re 
ceive  strength  from  the  best  and  highest,  and  in 
return  confirm  and  inlarge  them, 

like  the  sweet  south 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Giving  and  stealing  odours. 

I  have  sometimes,  when  in  a  cold  or  more  scepti- 


84  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

cal  turn  of  thought  than  is  natural  to  my  temper, 
hesitated  whether  this  affection  might  not  and  did 
not  too  much  engross  my  mind.  But  in  a  moment 
I  saw,  and  you,  my  friend,  know  and  feel  with 
what  satisfaction  not  to  be  described,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  indulge  it  too  much,  in  any  other 
sense  than  as  it  is  possible  to  carry  too  far  our 
regard  for  the  Supreme  Being;  that  is,  to  lose 
sight  of  its  natural  tendency,  and  run  counter  to 
the  very  spirit  with  which  it  was  instituted :  in 
other  words,  while  we  continue  to  cultivate  our 
friendship,  intire  and  extensive  as  its  foundations 
now  are,  it  cannot  ingross  our  minds  too  much,  or 
exert  too  general  an  influence  on  our  conduct. 

"  Perhaps  you  expect  some  account  of  my  tra^ 
vels.  Indeed  I  cannot  say  more  than  that  they 
confirm'd  all  my  former  ideas  of  the  Dutch  genius 
and  taste.  Minute  and  careful  in  execution,  but 
flat  and  inelegant  and  narrow  in  design.  Their 
buildings,  their  gardens,  their  civil  forms,  every 
thing,  give  the  same  information.  At  Amsterdam 
I  saw  a  Dutch  tragedy,  which,  tho'  intended  to  be 
really  distressful,  was  yet  farcical  beyond  any 
thing  in  Aristophanes  or  the  Rehearsal.  And 
these  farcical  parts  were  the  only  things  that 
mov'd  the  audience  in  the  very  least  degree.  And 
in  the  middle  of  the  distress,  in  those  boxes  where 
people  of  the  best  figure  use  to  sit,  the  glass  and 
brandy  bottle  was  going  about  among  both  men 
and  women. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  35 

"As  for  my  acquaintance  here,  it  lies  chiefly, 
almost  wholly,  among  the  gentlemen  that  lodge 
with  Mr.  Vanderlas :  the  others,  at  the  ordinary, 
have  given  me  no  reason  to  alter  the  account  you 
had  in  my  last.  Mr.  Ready,  as  far  as  I  am  able 
to  judge,  is  a  very  amiable  man,  and  much  a 
gentleman ;  and  young  Mr.  Canowan,  I  hope,  will 
turn  out  very  well  in  the  world,  especially  as  I 
see  he  is  much  less  attach'd  to  the  bigotry  and 
narrow  spirit  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion.  Mr. 
Schwartz  spent  this  afternoon  with  me,  and  all 
salute  you.  I  need  not  desire  yjou  to  express  for 
me  the  warmest  sentiments  of  friendship  and 
respect  to  Mrs.  Dyson  and  Miss  Dysons,  nor  to 
remember  me  to  all  our  other  friends.  I  am 
within  five  minutes  of  the  post,  and  very  sorry 
to  part  so  soon.  Farewell,  my  dearest  Dyson. 
Ever  yours,  "  M.  AKINSIDE." 

"  Friday  Evening. 

"  To  Mr.  DYSON,  at  Serle's  Coffee-house, 
Lincoln's  Inn,  London." 

"  Leyden,  April  21st,  N.  S.  1744. 
"  MY  DEAREST  DYSON,  —  I  have  just  received 
and  read  your  letter,  by  which  I  find  we  have 
been  a  second  time  imploy'd  in  writing  to  each 
other  at  the  same  instant :  from  what  sympathetic 
influence  of  our  minds  one  upon  the  other,  or 
what  invisible  agency  of  superior  genii  favourable 
to  friendship,  I  cannot  tell.  But  that  your 
writing  was  a  sort  of  present  and  immediate  se- 


36  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDB. 

curity  for  your  being  tolerably  well,  I  should 
have  been  much  alarm'd  at  the  account  you  give 
of  the  return  of  your  disorder.  But  now  I  hope 
'tis  fairly  over,  and  that  you  have  laid  in  a  stock 
of  health  and  good  spirits  for  a  very  long  time. 
For  my  own  part,  since  I  left  you,  I  have  indeed 
been  well,  in  the  vulgar  sense  of  the  phrase ;  that 
is  to  say,  my  appetite,  my  sleeps,  my  pulse,  and 
the  rest  of  that  kind,  have  been  regular  and  sound : 
but  the  other  more  desirable  sort  of  good  health, 
that  which  consists  in  the  perfect,  the  harmonious 
possession  of  one's  own  mind,  in  the  exercise  of 
its  best  faculty s  upon  those  objects  which  are  most 
adapted  to  it  by  nature  and  habit,  and,  above  all 
things,  in  that  conscious,  that  inexplicable  feeling 
that  we  are  happy, — this  kind  of  health,  I  confess, 
I  have  not  injoy'd  so  intire  for  these  three  weeks ; 
nor  do  I  expect  to  injoy  it,  till  I  return  to  that 
situation  which  taught  me  first  to  conceive  it.  The 
more  I  see  of  Holland  (and  I  imagine  the  case 
would  be  the  same  were  I  to  travel  thro'  the 
world),  the  more  I  love  and  honour  my  native 
country.  The  manners  of  the  people,  the  political 
forms,  the  genius  of  the  constitution,  the  temper 
of  the  laws,  the  accidental  objects  of  dress  and 
behaviour  one  meets  with  in  the  streets,  the  very 
face  of  their  buildings,  and  outward  appearance 
of  the  country  in  general,  only  serve  to  put  me 
in  mind  of  England,  with  a  greater  desire  of  re 
turning.  In  the  same  manner  as  all  that  variety 


37 

of  mix'd  company  I  have  pass'd  thro*  this  last 
year  or  two,  only  gave  me  a  stronger  sense  of  my 
happiness  when  I  got  home  to  you. 

"I  am  [at]  present  buried  among  medical 
books;  collecting  facts,  and  comparing  opinions 
among  the  dullest  of  mortal  men,  and  that  too,  in 
their  dullest  capacity,  that  of  authors.  However, 
I  hope  this  necessary  task  will  grow  more  agree 
able,  when  I  shall  be  at  leisure  to  attend  to  the 
justness  of  argument  and  the  decency  of  expres 
sion.  As  I  spend  no  time  so  agreeably  as  in 
reading  your  letters,  or  (next  to  that)  in  convers 
ing  with  you  even  after  this  imperfect  manner, 
I  could  not  forbear  sitting  down  immediately  to 
write,  especially  as  I  was  so  much  straitened  for 
time  last  post.  I  am  very  glad  that  people  shew 
so  much  unanimity  about  the  war  against  France ; 
and,  for  my  own  part,  I  have  not  the  least  doubt 
of  the  superiority  of  our  national  spirit,  and  con 
sequently  of  our  success  in  general :  only  I  am 
afraid  that  we  shall  want  generals,  and  that  the 
war  will  be  too  much  carried  on,  on  our  part,  by 
land.  I  can't  say  I  was  much  pleased  with  the 
declaration  of  war  (I  mean  the  formula,  not  the 
thing) :  the  style  seem'd  to  me  rather  that  of  a 
private  man  clearing  himself  from  some  unbe 
coming  imputations,  than  that  of  the  chief  magis 
trate  of  a  mighty  and  free  people  proclaiming 
war  against  the  most  formidable  people  in  the 
world,  in  defence  of  justice,  and  drawn  to  it  by 


38  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

the  disinterested  succour  of  an  oppress'd  and 
insulted  ally.  The  speech  to  the  parliament  I 
could  not  indeed  but  approve :  there  was  an  ex 
pression  either  in  it,  or  in  the  declaration  against 
France,  quite  equal  to  the  occasion :  *  I  appeal  to 
the  whole  world  for  the  equity  and  rectitude  of 
my  conduct.'  It  is  certainly  very  great,  and  has 
but  one  impropriety  (indeed,  a  very  essential 
one),  that  the  honour  due  to  the  people  of  Britain 
for  the  generosity  and  fearless  love  of  justice  they 
have,  under  such  vast  pressures,  manifested  upon 
this  occasion,  is  by  this  way  of  speaking,  una 
voidable  in  our  government,  attributed  to  one 
man,  who  has  no  other  merit  in  the  affair,  than 
meerly  in  not  imbezzling  the  vast  sums  which 
have  been  advanc'd  in  support  of  the  common 
cause. 

"  You  would  see  by  my  last  that  I  cannot  finish 
my  affairs  here  so  soon  as  you  suppos'd.  But 
what  time  I  lost  in  the  beginning  by  going  to 
Amsterdam,  &c.,  I  shall  gain  towards  the  end  of 
my  stay  here ;  so  that  I  hope  to  be  in  London,  at 
least  in  England,  within  a  month  at  latest.  I  have 
long  indulg'd  myself  in  an  agreeable  prospect  of 
settling  at  S.,  chiefly  because  of  my  opportunity  of 
seeing  you  frequently,  and  next  to  that  (if  indeed 
it  be  not  a  consideration  more  important),  in  mak 
ing  such  acquaintances  during  the  summer  seasons, 
as  might  put  it  sooner  in  my  power  to  spend  the 
remainder  of  my  life  without  interruption  beside 


LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE.  39 

you.  But  since  the  expectation  was  ill  founded, 
we  must  make  ourselves  easy,  and  look  out  in 
Northampton,  or  any  other  place  tolerably  near 
home.  For  of  this  one  thing  I  am  certain :  never 
to  be  far  from  you.  I  would  have  you  write  as 
soon  as  you  can,  if  it  be  but  to  tell  me  how  long 
your  journey  to  Shropshire  will  take  you ;  because, 
if  you  determine  to  go  thither,  I  shall  take  ship 
ping  from  Rotterdam  to  Newcastle,  as  you  will 
probably  be  gone  before  I  can  reach  London  even 
by  the  pacquet.  At  this  moment,  while  I  write 
this,  I  feel  something  of  the  pain  of  a  second 
parting. 

"  As  the  auctions  were  almost  intirely  over  be 
fore  I  got  hither,  I  have  not  bought  many  books, 
nor  expect  to  buy  many.  I  have,  however,  got  a 
few  classics,  and  such  medical  books  as  are  most 
useful  at  present.  Those  that  are  rather  for 
curiosity  and  medical  erudition,  I  shall  leave  com 
missions  for  with  some  acquaintance  or  other.  I 
find  what  you  told  me  to  be  very  true,  that  the  old 
and  best  editions  of  the  Greek  authors  are  dearer 
here  than  in  London.  Mr.  Gronovius  tells  me, 
what  perhaps  you  do  not  know,  that  Mr.  Freeman 
is  to  return  to  Leyden ;  by  which  I  judge  he  has 
intirely  dedicated  himself  to  Greek  (properly  so 
call'd)  and  to  editorial  criticism  (excuse  the  phrase). 
I  think  Gronovius  one  of  the  strangest  men  I 
ever  met  with. 

"  Farewell,  my  dear  friend.     I  know  you  oft 


40  LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE. 

think  of  me,  and  need  not  be  told  how  oft  and  how 
affectionately  I  remember  you. 

"  Ever  and  entirely  yours, 

"  MARK  AKINSIDE." 

"  Tuesday  Afternoon." 

"  P.  S.  I  wish  you  would  leave  off  writing  upon 
gilt  paper,  unless  you  can  get  sheets  of  it  as  large 
as  this.  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  that  Wetstein  at 
Amsterdam  shew'd  me  the  unfinish'd  Diodorus 
Siculus ;  it  is  printed  exactly  like  the  last  Thucy- 
dides,  but  how  accurately  I  cannot  tell.  Forget 
not  my  compliments  at  Charter-house  Square,  nor 
to  Mr.  Harrison,  Mr.  Dyson,  and  the  rest  of  our 
friends.  Mr.  Gronovius,  Mr.  Schwartz,  Mr.  Rea 
dy,  and  all  yours  here  salute  you. 

"I  have  just  been  at  Langeratu's  to  inquire 
about  the  Basilica,  but,  not  finding  him,  must 
refer  it  to  another  opportunity." 

On  the  16th  of  May,  1744,1  Akenside  took  his 
degree  of  Doctor  of  Physic  at  Leyden,  the  subject 
of  his  Dissertatio  Medica  Inauyuralis  being  "  De 
ortu  et  incremento  fo3tus  humani ; 2  and,  doubtless, 

1  The  coiTectness  of  this  date  is  ascertained  by  an  entry  in 
the  annals  of  the  College  of  Physicians,  London,  which  states 
that  Akenside,  on  the  20th  June,  1761,  produced  his  Diploma 
from  the  University  of  Leyden,  &c.  —  See  p.  62  of  this  Me 
moir. 

2  Printed  at  Leyden,  in  1744,  4to.     "  In  this  dissertation, 
the  author  is  said  to  have  displayed  his  medical  sagacity,  by 
attacking  some  opinions  of  Leeuwenhoek  and  other  writers,  at 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDB.  41 

as  soon  as  he  had  obtained  his  diploma,  he  hastened 
back  to  England.  In  the  collection  of  odes,  which 
he  published  in  the  following  year,  is  an  ode  "  On 
leaving  Holland." 

He  was  now  desirous  to  commence  the  practice 
of  his  profession ;  and  having  heard  that  he  had  a 
prospect  of  succeeding  at  Northampton,  and  having 
made  some  necessary  inquiries  on  the  spot,  in 
June,  1744,1  he  soon  after  fixed  himself  there  as  a 
physician.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before  he 
found  that  the  chief  medical  business  of  the  place 
was  in  the  hands  of  Dr.  Stonehouse,  from  whom 
it  was  not  to  be  wrested  by  a  stranger;2  and, 

that  time  very  generally  received,  but  which  have  been  since 
discarded  by  the  best  physicians  and  philosophers;  and  by 
proposing  an  hypothesis  which  is  now  considered  as  founded 
in  truth."  —  Biog.  Brit. 

1  From  the  information  of  Mr.  Dyson  (October  25th,  1834), 
who  thus  describes  the  contents  of  one  of  the  poet's  letters  to 
his  father:  "  On  the  14th  June  [1744],  he  writes  from  North 
ampton  to  report  the  result  of  his  inquiries  in  relation  to  the 
expediency  of  his  settling  there,  which  was  such  as  induced 
him  to  do  so." 

a  A  correspondent  (who  signs  himself  Indagator)  in  the 
Gent.  Mag.  for  October,  1793  (Ixiii.  885),  writes  thus:  "The 
fact,  Mr.  Urban,  is,  that  this  contest  for  the  physical  business 
at  Northampton,  though  unsuccessful  on  the  part  of  Akenside, 
had  for  some  time  been  supported  by  him  with  extraordinary 
violence.  I  am  warranted,  by  manuscripts  in  my  possession, 
when  I  say,  that  not  only  a  fair  and  open  struggle  of  medical 
hostilities,  but  every  art  and  every '  exertion,  personal  abuse 
and  private  insinuation,  had  been  used  to  usurp  Dr.  Stone- 
house's  professional  emoluments,  and  oust  him  from  his  esta 
blished  settlement  Yet,  on  Akenside's  removal  from  that 
D 


42  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

having  maintained  a  fruitless  contest  with  that 
gentleman,  and  perhaps  disliking  Northampton  on 
account  of  its  distance  from  the  capital,  he  quitted 
it,  after  a  stay  of  about  eighteen  months,  and 
removed  to  Hampstead.  "The  writer  of  this 
article,"  says  Kippis,  in  a  note  on  our  author's 
"  Life," l  "  who  then  resided  at  Northampton  for 
education,  well  remembers  that  Dr.  Doddridge 
and  Dr.  Akenside  carried  on  an  amicable  debate 
concerning  the  opinions  of  the  ancient  philoso 
phers  with  regard  to  a  future  state  of  rewards  and 
punishments ;  in  which  Dr.  Akenside  supported 
the  firm  belief  of  Cicero,  in  particular,  in  this 
great  article  of  natural  religion."  According  to 

place  to  Hampstead,  the  recommendatory  letter,  a  copy  of 
which  I  send  you,  was  generously  written  in  his  favour  by  his 
worthy  rival,  as  an  introduction  for  him  to  a  gentleman  of  con 
sequence  in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  new  abode." 

"  DEAR  SIB,  —  The  gentleman  who  presents  you  with  this 
is  Dr.  Akenside,  a  brother  physician,  whose  merit,  as  a  man  of 
refined  sense  and  elegance  of  taste,  is  too  well  known  by  his 
writings  (The  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination,  &c.)  to  need  any 
other  testimonial ;  and,  I  dare  say,  from  what  you  already  know 
of  them,  you  will  naturally  conclude,  without  any  praise  of 
mine,  that  such  a  man  must  be  proportionably  distinguished 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  own  peculiar  profession. 

"  I  take  this  opportunity  of  introducing  him  to  the  honour  of 
your  acquaintance,  and  make  no  doubt  you  will  receive  him 
as  a  gentleman,  whom,  for  his  character  and  abilities,  I  much 
esteem,  and  whose  near  neighbourhood,  in  any  place  where 
there  had  been  room  for  us  both,  I  should  have  regarded  as  an 
addition  to  my  happiness.  I  am,"  &c. 

See,  too,  Gent.  Mag.  for  January,  1794  (Ixiv.  12). 

l  Biog.  Brit. 


1       i 

LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE.  43 

Johnson,  who  heartily  disliked  his  political  creed, 
and  never  loses  an  opportunity  of  stigmatising  it, 
Akenside  "  deafened  the  place  with  clamours  for 
liberty." 1 

During  his  stay  at  Northampton  (in  1744),  he 
produced  his  very  powerful  satire,  "An  Epistle  to 
Curio,"  2  i.  e.  to  Pulteney,  who,  having  been  long 
the  strenuous  supporter  of  the  people's  cause  in 
opposition  to  the  measures  of  the  government,  had 
suddenly  deserted  his  party,  and  become  an  object 
of  popular  execration,  for  the  sake  of  an  empty 
title,  the  Earldom  of  Bath.  This  justly-admired 
piece  he  afterwards  injudiciously  altered  into  an 
ode. 

The  following  letter,  undoubtedly  genuine,  and 
never  before  printed  in  England,  is  given  from  a 
fac-simile  of  the  original  in  an  American  edition 
of  our  author's  works:8 — 

"  Northampton,  May  21st,  1745. 

"DEAR  SIR, —  When  I  look  on  the  date  of 
your  letter,  I  am  very  glad  that  I  have  any  excuse, 
however  disagreeable,  for  not  answering  it  long 

1  Life  of  Akenside. 

2  Quarto,  price  Is.    See  List  of  Books  for  November,  1744, 
in  the  Gent.  Mag.     On  the  title-page  is  this  motto:  "  Neque 
tarn  ulciscendi  causa  dixi,  quam  ut  et  in  prsesens  sceleratos 
cives  timore  ab  impugnanda  patria  detinerem ;  et  in  posterum 
documentum  statuerem,  nequis  talem  amentiam  vellet  imi- 
tari."  —  Tull. 

8  Printed  at  New  Brunswick,  New  Jersey,  1808, 2  vols.  8vo. 


44  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

ere  this.  About  a  month  ago,  when  I  was  think 
ing  every  post  to  write  to  you,  I  was  thrown  from 
my  horse,  with  a  very  great  hazard  of  my  life,  and 
confined  a  good  while  afterwards  from  either 
writing  or  reading.  •  But,  thank  Heaven,  for  these 
ten  days  I  have  been  perfectly  well.  You  are 
very  good-natured  about  the  verses.  If  they  gave 
you  any  pleasure,  I  shall  conclude  my  principal 
end  in  publishing  them  to  be  fairly  answer'd. 
And  that  you  look  upon  your  reading  them  in 
manuscript,  and  this  way  of  seeing  them  in  print, 
as  an  instance  of  real  friendship,  gives  me  great 
satisfaction.  As  for  public  influence,  if  they  have 
any,  I  hope  it  will  be  a  good  one.  But  my  expec 
tations  of  that  kind  are  not  near  so  sanguine  as 
they  once  were.  Indeed,  human  nature,  in  its 
genuine  habit  and  constitution,  is  adapted  to  very 
powerful  impressions  from  this  sort  of  entertain 
ment  ;  but,  in  the  present  state  of  manners  and 
opinions,  it  is  almost  solely  on  the  retir'd  and  stu 
dious  of  nature  that  this  effect  can  be  looked  for ; 
for  hardly  any  besides  these  have  been  able  to  pre 
serve  the  genuine  habit  of  the  mind  in  any  tolerable 
degree.  I  am,  dear  Sir,  your  most  obedient  and 
most  humble  servant,  "  M.  AKINSIDE." 

"  To  M.  WILKES,  jun. 
St.  John's-street,  London." 

Here,  probably,  he  alludes   to   his  "  Odes  on 
Several  Subjects,"  which  had  been  published  more 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  45 

than  two  l  months  before  the  date  of  this  letter, 
and  which  require  particular  notice,  though  they 
have  not  obtained  the  slightest  mention  from  Mr. 
Bucke.  They  are  prefaced  by  an  Advertisement 
worthy  of  preservation  :  —  "  The  following  Odes 
were  written  at  very  distant  intervals,  and  with  a 
view  to  very  different  manners  of  expression  and 
versification.  The  author  pretends  chiefly  to  the 
merit  of  endeavouring  to  be  correct,  and  of  carefully 
attending  to  the  best  models.  From  what  the 
ancients  have  left  of  this  kind,  perhaps  the  Ode 
may  be  allowed  the  most  amiable  species  of 
poetry;  but  certainly  there  is  none  which  in 
modern  languages  has  been  generally  attempted 
with  so  little  success.  For  the  perfection  of  lyric 

l  Quarto,  price  Is.  6d.  See  List  of  Books  for  March,  1745, 
in  the  Gent.  Mag.  This  tract  consists  of  fifty-four  pages,  and 
has  the  following  motto  from  Pindar:  — 


lyu  ffaoTOte  OT&JV,  Kal 
Xdovt  -yvla  KaMnpai- 
fj,',  alvluv  alvrjTa,  fj.op.- 
<f>av  6'emaTTEipcjv  u/UrpoZf. 

Another  edition  of  these  Odes,  in  small  octavo,  was  printed  in 
the  same  year.  Horace  Walpole  writes  to  Sir  H.  Mann,  March 
29th,  1745  :  "  There  is  another  of  these  tame  geniuses,  a  Mr. 
Akenside,  who  writes  odes  ;  in  one  he  has  lately  published,  he 
says,  '  Light  the  tapers,  urge  the  fire.'  Had  you  not  rather 
make  gods  jostle  in  the  dark,  than  light  the  candles  for  fear 
they  should  break  their  heads?"  —  Letters,  <fc.  ii.  32.  Wai- 
pole's  editor,  in  a  kindred  spirit,  calls  the  Pleasures  of  Imagi 
nation  "  a  poem  of  eome  merit." 


46  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

poetry  depends,  beyond  that  of  any  other,  on  the 
beauty  of  words  and  the  gracefulness  of  numbers ; 
in  both  which  respects  the  ancients  had  infinite 
advantages  above  us.  A  consideration  which  will 
alleviate  the  author's  disappointment,  if  he,  too, 
should  be  found  to  have  miscarried."  The  con 
tents  of  this  tract  are:  I.  Allusion  to  Horace 
[now  entitled  Preface  to  Odes,  Book  I.].  II.  On 
the  Winter  Solstice.  III.  Against  Suspicion.  IV. 
To  a  Gentleman  whose  Mistress  had  married  an 
Old  Man  [now  entitled  To  a  Friend  Unsuccessful 
in  Love].  V.  Hymn  to  Cheerfulness.  VI.  On 
the  Absence  of  the  Poetic  Inclination  [now  enti 
tled  To  the  Muse].  VII.  To  a  Friend  on  the 
Hazard  of  Falling  in  Love  [now  entitled  On  Love, 
to  a  Friend].  VIII.  On  Leaving  Holland.  IX. 
To  Sleep.  X.  On  Lyric  Poetry.  A  new  edition 
of  these  Odes,  materially  altered  and  improved, 
was  published  in  1760;  and,  after  the  author's 
death,  they  were  again  reprinted,  with  still  farther 
alterations,  in  that  collection  of  his  various  Odes 
which  he  had  left  behind  him  for  the  press.  How 
the  text,  as  finally  arranged,  differs  from  that  of  the 
first  edition,  the  following  quotations  will  evince. 
A  celebrated  stanza  in  the  Ode  "  On  the  Winter 
Solstice  "  is  now  read  thus :  — 

"  Hence  the  loud  city's  busy  throngs 
Urge  the  warm  bowl  and  splendid  fire ; 
Harmonious  dances,  festive  songs, 
Against  the  spiteful  heaven  conspire. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  .  47 

Meantime  perhaps,  with  tender  fears, 
Some  village-dame  the  curfew  hears, 
While  round  the  hearth  her  children  play: 
At  morn  their  father  went  abroad ; 
The  moon  is  sunk,  and  deep  the  road; 
She  sighs,  and  wonders  at  his  stay." 

It  stood  in  the  edition  of  1745 :  — 

"  Now,  through  the  town,  promiscuous  throngs 
Urge  the  warm  bowl  and  ruddy  fire ; 
Harmonious  dances,  festive  songs, 
To  charm  the  midnight  hours  conspire. 
While,  mute  and  shrinking  with  her  fears, 
Each  blast  the  cottage-matron  hears, 
As  o'er  the  hearth  she  sits  alone : 
At  morn  her  bridegroom  went  abroad; 
The  night  is  dark,  and  deep  the  road; 
She  sighs,  and  wishes  him  at  home." 

The  Ode  "To  a  Friend  Unsuccessful  in  Love" 
now  ends  thus :  — 

"  0  just  escap'd  the  faithless  main, 
Though  driven  unwilling  on  the  land, 
To  guide  your  favour'd  steps  again, 
Behold  your  better  Genius  stand ! 
Where  Truth  revolves  her  page  divine, 
Where  Virtue  leads  to  Honour's  shrine, 
Behold  he  lifts  his  awful  hand! 

"  Fix  but  on  these  your  ruling  aim, 
And  Time,  the  sire  of  manly  care, 
Will  Fancy's  dazzling  colours  tame, 
A  soberer  dress  will  Beauty  wear; 
Then  shall  Esteem,  by  Knowledge  led, 
Enthrone  within  your  heart  and  head 
Some  happier  love,  some  truer  fair." 


48  .  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

It  formerly  concluded :  — 

"  0  just  escap'd  the  faithless  main, 
Though  driven  unwilling  on  the  land, 
To  guide  your  favour'd  steps  again, 
Behold  your  better  Genius  stand ! 
Where  Plato's  olive  courts  your  eye, 
Where  Hamden's  laurel  blooms  on  high, 
He  lifts  his  heaven-directed  hand. 

"  When  these  are  blended  on  your  brow, 
The  willow  will  be  nam'd  no  more; 
Or  if  that  love-deserted  bough 
The  pitying,  laughing  girls  deplore, 
Yet  still  shall  I  most  freely  swear 
Your  dress  has  much  a  better  air 
Than  all  that  ever  bridegroom  wore." 

In  the  Ode  "  On  Lyric  Poetry  "  we  now  find :  — 

"  Yet  then  did  Pleasure's  lawless  throng, 
Oft  rushing  forth  in  loose  attire, 
Thy  virgin  dance,  thy  graceful  song, 
Pollute  with  impious  revels  dire. 
0  fair,  0  chaste !  thy  echoing  shade 
May  no  foul  discord  here  invade ; 
Nor  let  thy  strings  one  accent  move, 
Except  what  Earth's  untroubled  ear, 
'Mid  all  her  social  tribes,  may  hear, 
And  Heaven's  unerring  throne  approve." 

The  lines  were  originally  :  — 

"  But  oft  amid  the  Grecian  throng, 
The  loose-rob'd  forms  of  wild  Desire, 
With  lawless  notes  intun'd  thy  song, 
To  shameful  steps  dissolv'd  thy  quire. 
0  fair,  0  chaste,  be  still  with  me 
From  such  profaner  discord  free; 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  49 

While  I  frequent  thy  tuneful  shade, 
No  frantic  shouts  of  Thracian  dames, 
No  Satyrs  fierce  with  savage  flames, 
Thy  pleasing  accents  shall  invade." 

When  this  collection  first  appeared,  the  Odes  of 
Collins  and  Gray  had  not  been  published ;  and  it 
therefore  formed  (with  all  its  imperfections)  the 
most  valuable  accession  which  the  lyric  poetry  of 
England  had  received  since  Dryden's  time,  if  we 
except  the  single  Ode  of  Pope.1 

Concerning  the  Ode  "Against  Suspicion,"  we 
are  told  by  Mr.  Bucke  that  it  was  addressed  to  a 
self-tormenting  friend,  who  had  been  seized  with 
groundless  jealousy,  because  his  wife  used  to 
indulge  in  certain  "  innocent  freedoms  "  with  her 
male  acquaintances,  and  who,  in  his  distress,  had 
applied  to  Akenside  for  advice.2 

1  Of  the  mass  of  nonsense,  which,  under  the  title  of  "  Pin 
daric  Odes,"  was  poured  out  towards  the  close  of  the  seven 
teenth  and  during  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
the  reader  who  has  not  examined  it  can  have  no  conception. 
The  very  worst  piece  of  the  kind  I  ever  met  with  is  a  long 
Ode  by  Theobald,  "  On  the  Union,"  printed  in  1707,  which 
begins : — 

"Haste,  Polyhymnia,  haste;  thy  shell  prepare; 

I  have  a  message  thou  must  bear, 
But  to  the  car  a  salamander  tie  ; 
Thou  canst  not  on  a  sunbeam  play,"  &c. 

Yet,  in  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  Grecian  and  early 
English  poetry,  Theobald  excelled  most  of  his  contempora 
ries! 

2  Life  of  Akenside,  49.    Mr.  Bucke  does  not  give  his  autho 
rity  for  the  anecdote. 


50  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

That  our  author,  after  quitting  Northampton, 
proceeded  to  try  his  fortune  as  a  physician  at 
Hampstead,  has  been  already  noticed.  In  Febru 
ary,  1747,  Mr.  Hardinge1  resigned  his  office  of 
Clerk  to  the  House  of  Commons,  in  favor  of  Mr. 
Dyson,  for  six  thousand  pounds ;  and  the  latter, 
bidding  adieu  to  the  bar,  purchased  a  villa  at 
North  End,  Hampstead,  for  the  purpose  of  intro 
ducing  Akenside  to  the  chief  persons  in  the  neigh 
bourhood.  "  There,"  says  Sir  John  Hawkins, "  they 
dwelt  together  during  the  summer  season,  fre 
quenting  the  long  room,  and  all  clubs,  and  assem 
blies  of  the  inhabitants."  2  But,  if  we  may  believe 
the  statements  of  this  writer,  who  knew  him  well, 
Akenside,  by  a  want  of  "discretion,"  frustrated 
the  kind  endeavours  of  Mr.  Dyson  to  forward  his 
views.  At  the  meetings  just  mentioned,  which 
were  attended  by  wealthy  persons  of  ordinary 
endowments,  who  could  only  talk  of  the  occurrences 
of  the  day,  he  made  an  ostentatious  display  of  that 
talent  for  conversation  which  had  distinguished 
him  in  more  enlightened  society,  became  involved 
in  disputes  that  betrayed  him  into  a  contempt  of 
those  who  differed  from  his  opinions,  was  taunt 
ingly  reminded  of  his  low  birth  and  dependence 
on  Mr.  Dyson,  and  was  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  asserting  in  plain  terms  that  he  was  a  gentle- 

1  See  an  account  of  this  gentleman,  Mr.  Nicholas  Hardinge, 
hi  Nichols's  Illust.  of  Lit.  Hist.  iii.  6. 

2  Life  of  Johnson,  243,  ed.  1787. 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  51 

man.  By  a  residence  of  about  two  years  and  a 
half  at  Hampstead,  he  gained  nothing  but  the  con 
viction  that  he  had  chosen  a  situation  which  did 
not  suit  him.  Mr.  Dyson,  therefore,  parted  with 
his  villa  at  North  End;  settled  his  friend  in  a 
small  but  handsome  house  in  Bloomsbury  Square, 
London ;  and,  with  a  generosity  almost  unexampled, 
allowed  him  annually  such  a  sum  of  money  (stated 
to  have  been  three  hundred  pounds)1  as  enabled 
him  to  keep  a  chariot,  and  to  command  the  com 
forts  and  elegancies  of  life. 

Mr.  Bucke  has  suppressed  the  observations  of 
Hawkins  on  Akenside's  want  of  success  at  Hamp 
stead,  and  attributes  it  entirely  to  the  insolence 
of  the  purse-proud  inhabitants,  whom  the  high- 
minded  poet  would  not  stoop  to  court.  They 
were,  perhaps,  not  a  little  supercilious  and  over 
bearing  ;  but  the  tone  assumed  by  Mr.  Bucke  in 
treating  the  subject  could  only  be  warranted  by 
his  having  resided  among  them  at  the  period  in 
question,  and  having  frequently  witnessed  their 
behaviour  towards  Akenside.2 


1  The  sum  was  probably  greater.     Sir  John  Hawkins  says, 
that  Mr.  Dyson  "  assigned  for  his  support  such  a  part  of  hia 
income  as  enabled  him  to  keep  a  chariot,"  Id.  244;  and  Mr. 
Justice  Hardinge,  in  some  anecdotes  which  will  be  afterwards 
given  in  this  Memoir,  asserts  that  Akenside  "  lived  incompara 
bly  well." 

2  "  They  required  to  be  sought ;  their  wives  and  daughters 
expected  to  be  escorted  and  flattered,  and  their  sons  to  be 
treated  with  an  air  of  obligation,"  &c.  —  Life  of  Akenside,  70. 


- 


52  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

To  return  to  the  notice  of  his  works.  In  1746 
he  wrote  his  truly  classical "  Hymn  to  the  Naiads," l 
and  (according  to  Mr.  Bucke)  his  Ode  "  To  the 
Evening  Star ; "  2  he  also  contributed  to  Dodsley's 
excellent  periodical  publication,  "  The  Museum, 
or  Literary  and  Historical  Register,"  several 
prose-papers,  which  deserve  to  be  reprinted,  and 
from  which  I  regret  that  the  necessary  shortness 
of  this  Memoir  will  not  allow  me  to  offer  some 
extracts ;  viz.  On  Correctness,8  The  Table  of 
Modern  Fame  —  a  Vision,4  Letter  from  a  Swiss 
Gentleman  on  English  Liberty,5  and  The  Balance 
of  Poets.6  In  1747  he  composed  a  couple  of 
stanzas  "  On  a  Sermon  against  Glory," 7  and  an 

1  First  printed  in  Dodsley's  Coll.  of  Poems,  vol.  vi.  1758. 

2  Life  of  Akenside,  52.  —  Printed,  without  a  date,  in  Mr. 
Dyson's  edition  of  his  Poems,  1772. 

8  Museum,  i.  84.  —  Two  passages  of  this  Essay  are  cited  by 
J.  Warton  (Pope's  Works,  i.  264,  iv.  190);  and  Mr.  Bucke,  not 
knowing  from  what  piece  they  were  derived,  supposes  that 
Warton  quoted  from  the  conversation  of  Akenside  I  —  Life 
of  Akenside,  105. 

*  Museum,  i.  481.  —  It  is  an  imitation  of  the  eighty-first 
number  of  "The  Tatler."  J.  Warton  (Pope's  Works,  ii.  83), 
attributing  it  to  Akenside,  says,  "  The  guests  are  introduced 
and  ranged  with  that  taste  and  judgment  which  is  peculiar  to 
the  author."  It  is  strange  that  Akenside  should  have  omitted 
to  introduce  (though  he  quotes)  Shakespeare  in  this  Vision. 

6  Museum,  ii.  161.  —  On  the  authority  of  Mr.  A.  Chalmers 
(Biog.  Diet.  art.  Akenside),  who  possesses  J.  Warton's  copy  of 
"The  Museum:"  see  Brit.  Poets,  xviii.  76. 

6  Museum,  ii.  165  (mispagcd).  —  On  the  authority  of  Isaac 
Reed. 

i  Printed  in  Mr.  Dyson's  edition  of  his  Poems,  1772. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  53 

"  Ode  to  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon,"  which  was  pub 
lished  in  the  following l  year,  and  is  perhaps  the 
most  perfect  of  his  efforts  in  lyric  poetry.  About 
the  same  time,  he  composed  his  "  Ode  to  Caleb 
Hardinge,  M.D." 2  a  talented  and  eccentric  charac 
ter,  of  whom,  in  connection  with  our  poet,  some 
anecdotes  will  be  afterwards  related.  Mr.  Dyson, 
we  have  already  seen,  had  succeeded  this  gentle 
man's  brother,  Mr.  Hardinge,  as  Clerk  to  the 
House  of  Commons ;  and  Akenside  had  conse 
quently  become  acquainted  with  various  members 
of  the  Hardinge  family.  The  Ode  "To  Sir 
Francis  Henry  Drake  "  8  was  produced,  I  appre 
hend,  at  nearly  the  same  period.  In  1749  he 
wrote  "  The  Remonstrance  of  Shakespeare,  sup 
posed  to  have  been  spoken  at  the  Theatre  Royal, 
while  the  French  comedians  were  acting  by  sub 
scription;"4  a  piece  only  remarkable  for  its  illi- 
berality. 

Akenside  was  about  the  age  of  twenty-seven, 
when,  rendered  easy  in  his  circumstances  by  the 
annual  gratuity  of  Mr.  Dyson,  he  finally  took  up 
his  abode  in  the  metropolis.  Thenceforth  his 
exertions  to  advance  himself  in  his  profession 
appear  to  have  been  unremitting.  Though  he 
occasionally  amused  his  leisure  by  composing 
poetry,  he  gave  little  of  it  to  the  press ;  and  pub- 

1  Quarto,  price  Is.     See  List  of  Books  for  January,  1748,  in 
the  Gent.  Mag. 

2  Printed  in  Mr.  Dyson's  edition  of  his  Poems,  1772. 
«  Printed  ibid.  *  Printed  ibid. 


54  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

lished,  from  time  to  time,  various  medical  essays. 
His  reputation  and  practice  continued  to  increase 
till  his  death;  but  it  is  certain  that  he  never 
attained  the  highest  rank  in  his  profession,  and 
that  his  services  were  never  in  much  request.1 
"  A  physician  in  a  great  city,"  observes  Johnson, 
"  seems  to  be  the  mere  plaything  of  fortune ;  his 
degree  of  reputation  is,  for  the  most  part,  totally 
casual :  they  that  employ  him  know  not  his  excel 
lence  ;  they  that  reject  him  know  not  his  deficience. 
By  any  acute  observer,  who  had  looked  on  the 
transactions  of  the  medical  world  for  half  a  cen 
tury,  a  very  curious  book  might  be  written  on  the 
'  Fortune  of  Physicians.'  " 2  According  to  Sir 
John  Hawkins,  Akenside's  endeavours  to  become 
popular  were  defeated  by  the  high  opinion  which 
lie  everywhere  manifested  of  himself,  his  want  of 
condescension  to  those  of  inferior  talents,  and  his 
love  of  political  controversy.  At  Tom's  Coffee 
house  in  Devereux  Court,  which  he  frequented  in 
the  winter  evenings,  and  which  was  then  the  resort 
of  various  eminent  men,  he  would  engage  in  dis- 

1  The  newspapers  which  announce  his  decease  describe 
him  as  ua  physician  of  very  extensive  practice;  "  and  Kippis, 
in  the  Biog.  Brit.,  says,  "  In  a  course  of  time,  Dr.  Akenside 
came  into  very  considerable  reputation  and  practice."  On  the 
contrary,  besides  the  statements  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  it  is  positively  asserted  by  his  friend,  Mr.  Justice 
Ilardinge,  that  "  he  certainly  had  no  business  or  fame  "  as  a 
medical  man:  see  some  anecdotes  afterwards  cited  in  this 
Memoir. 

a  Life  of  Akenside. 


LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE. 


55 


putes,  chiefly  on  literature  and  politics,  that  fixed 
on  his  character  the  stamp  of  haughtiness  and  self- 
conceit. 

Among  the  company  who  used  to  assemble 
there,  was  a  little  deformed  personage,  named 
Ballow ;  a  lawyer  without  practice,  holding  a 
place  in  the  exchequer ;  vulgar  and  ill-tempered, 
but  of  deep  and  extensive  learning.  He  envied 
the  eloquence  which  Akenside  displayed  in  con 
versation,  hated  what  he  thought  his  republican 
principles,  and  affected  to  treat  him  as  a  pretender 
to  literature.  A  violent  dispute  having  arisen 
between  them,  Akenside,  in  consequence  of  some 
expressions  uttered  by  Ballow,  demanded  an  apo 
logy  ;  which  not  being  able  to  obtain,  he  sent  his 
adversary  a  written  challenge.  Though  Ballow 
wore  a  sword  of  remarkable  length,  he  had  no 
inclination  to  use  it :  he  declined  an  answer ;  and, 
in  spite  of  Akenside's  repeated  attempts  to  see 
him,  kept  close  in  his  lodgings,  till  the  interposition 
of  friends  had  adjusted  their  difference.  Akenside, 
however,  gained  little  reputation  for  courage  by 
this  affair :  it  was  settled,  not  by  the  concessions 
of  his  adversary,  but  by  their  mutual  obstinacy,  — 
the  one  refusing  to  fight  in  the  morning,  the  other 
in  the  afternoon.1  "  Yet,"  adds  Sir  John  Hawkins, 

1  There  is  truth  in  the  remark  of  Mr.  Bucke,  that  "  to  chal 
lenge  a  man  like  Ballow  must  have  been  a  punishment  to  the 
sensitive  mind  of  Akenside,  in  itself  sufficient,  for  having  given 
way  to  a  weakness  so  unworthy  of  a  poet  of  high  rank,  and 
more  especially  a  philosopher  of  no  mean  order." — Life  of 
Akenside.  179. 


56  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

who  writes  with  no  unfriendly  feeling  towards  our 
poet,  "  where  there  was  no  competition  for  applause 
or  literary  reputation,  he  was  an  easy  companion, 
and  would  bear  with  such  rudeness  as  would  have 
angered  almost  any  one.  Saxby,  of  the  Custom 
house,  who  was  every  evening  at  Tom's,  and,  by 
the  bluntness  of  his  behaviour,  and  the  many 
shrewd  sayings  he  was  used  to  utter,  had  acquired 
the  privilege  of  Thersites,  of  saying  whatever  he 
would,  was  once  in  my  hearing  inveighing  against 
the  profession  of  physic,  which  Akenside  took 
upon  him  to  defend.  This  railer,  after  laboring 
to  prove  that  it  was  all  imposture,  concluded  his 
discourse  with  this  sentiment:  £  Doctor,'  said  he, 
*  after  all  you  have  said,  my  opinion  of  the  profes 
sion  of  physic  is  this,  —  the  ancients  endeavoured 
to  make  it  a  science  and  failed,  and  the  moderns  to 
make  it  a  trade  and  have  succeeded.'  Akenside 
took  his  sarcasm  in  good  part,  and  joined  in  the 

laugh    which   it  occasioned Akenside  was   a 

man  of  religion  and  strict  virtue,  a  philosopher,  a 
scholar,  and  a  fine  poet.  His  conversation  was  of 
the  most  delightful  kind,  learned,  instructive,  and, 
without  any  affectation  of  wit,  cheerful  and  enter 
taining.  One  of  the  pleasantest  days  of  my  life  I 
passed  with  him,  Mr.  Dyson,  and  another  friend,  at 
Putney  bowling-green  house,  where  a  neat  and 
elegant  dinner,  the  enlivening  sunshine  of  a  sum 
mer's  day,  and  the  view  of  an  unclouded  sky,  were 
the  least  of  our  gratifications.  In  perfect  good- 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  57 

humour  with  himself  and  all  around  him,  he  seemed 
to  feel  a  joy  that  he  lived,  and  poured  out  his 
gratulations  to  the  great  Dispenser  of  all  felicity 
in  expressions  that  Plato  himself  might  have 
uttered  on  such  *an  occasion.  In  conversations 
with  select  friends,  and  those  whose  course  of 
study  had  been  nearly  the  same  with  his  own,  it 
was  an  usual  thing  with  him,  in  libations  to  the 
memory  of  eminent  men  among  the  ancients,  to 
bring  their  characters  into  view,  and  thereby  give 
occasion  to  expatiate  on  those  particulars  of  their 
lives  that  had  rendered  them  famous :  his  method 
was  to  arrange  them  into  three  classes,  —  philo 
sophers,  poets,  and  legislators. 

"That  a  character  thus  formed  should  fail  of 
recommending  itself  to  general  esteem,  and  of 
procuring  to  the  possessor  of  it  those  benefits 
which  it  is  in  the  power  of  mankind  to  bestow, 
may  seem  a  wonder ;  but  it  is  often  seen  that  ne 
gative  qualities  are  more  conducive  to  this  end 
than  positive ;  and  that,  with  no  higher  a  character 
than  is  attainable  by  any  one  who  with  a  studious 
taciturnity  will  keep  his  opinions  to  himself,  con 
form  to  the  practice  of  others,  and  entertain 
neither  friendship  for  nor  enmity  against  any  one, 
a  competitor  for  the  good  opinion  of  the  world, 
nay  for  emoluments  and  even  dignities,  stands  a 
better  chance  of  success  than  one  of  the  most 
established  reputation  for  learning  and  ingenuity. 
The  truth  of  this  observation  Akenside  himself 
£ 


58  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

lived  to  experience,  who,  in  a  competition  for  the 
place  of  physician  to  the  Charter-house,  was  un 
able  to  prevail  against  an  obscure  man,  devoid  of 
every  quality  that  might  serve  to  recommend  him, 
and  whose  sole  merit  was  that  of  being  distantly 
related  to  the  late  Lord  Holland." l 
\  Akenside's  practice,  Mr.  Bucke  informs  us,  was 
obstructed  by  his  dislike  of  being  all  things  to  all 
men,  and  in  a  still  greater  degree  by  his  fame  as 
a  poet.2  I  believe  that  it  was  greatly  impeded  by 
his  forbidding  manner  to  strangers :  he  was  ex 
cessively  stiff  and  formal ;  and  if  any  one  ventured 
to  smile  in  the  apartments  of  the  sick,  he  checked 
them  with  a  frown.3  Some  anecdotes,  which 
charge  him  with  cruelty  to  hospital-patients,  will 
be  afterwards  cited.  That  he  was  a  scientific  and 
acute  physician,4  is  testified  by  his  works,  which 
I  have  heard  more  than  one  member  of  the  pro 
fession  mention  in  terms  of  praise. 

Among  his  friends,  and,  it  should  seem,  his  pa 
tients,  he  now  included  the  Honourable  Charles 
Townshend,  who,  for  his  parliamentary  eloquence, 
has  been  termed  by  Burke  "  a  prodigy,"  and  who, 
at  a  later  period,  became  Chancellor  of  the  Ex- 


1  Life  of  Johnson,  pp.  244—248,  ed.  1787. 

2  Life  of  Akenside,  86. 

«  So  a  Mr.  Meyrick  told.Mr.  Bucke.     Id.  29. 

*  Mr.  Justice  Hardinge  thought  otherwise  (see  some  anec 
dotes  afterwards  quoted  in  this  Memoir)  ;  but  his  opinion  on 
the  subject  carries  no  weight 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  59 

chequer.  To  this  distinguished  statesman  Aken- 
side  addressed  two  Odes,  the  longer  of  which  is 
dated  1750 j1  but,  from  some  unknown  cause,  their 
friendship  subsequently  ceased.  "  Sir,"  said  John 
son  to  Boswell,  "  a  man  is  very  apt  to  complain 
of  the  ingratitude  of  those  who  have  risen  far 
above  him.  A  man  when  he  gets  into  a  higher 
sphere,  into  other  habits  of  life,  cannot  keep  up 
all  his  former  connections.  Then,  sir,  those  who 
knew  him  formerly  upon  a  level  with  themselves 
may  think  that  they  ought  still  to  be  treated  as  on 
a  level,  which  cannot  be ;  and  an  acquaintance  in 
a  former  situation  may  bring  out  things  which  it 
would  be  very  disagreeable  to  have  mentioned 
before  higher  company,  though  perhaps  every 
body  knows  of  them."  Boswell  presently  adds : 
"  Dr.  Johnson's  remark  as  to  the  jealousy  enter 
tained  of  our  friends  who  rise  far  above  us,  is 
certainly  very  just.  By  this  was  withered  the 
early  friendship  between  Charles  Townshend  and 
Akenside."  The  recent  editor  of  Boswell's  work 
justly  observes  that  "this  is  no  appropriate  in 
stance.  Charles  Townshend, — the  nephew  of  the 
prime  minister,  —  the  son  of  a  peer,  who  was  se 
cretary  of  state,  and  leader  of  the  House  of 
Lords, — was  as  much  above  Akenside  in  their 
earliest  days,  as  at  any  subsequent  period;  nor 
was  Akenside  in  rank  inferior  to  Dr.  Brocklesbury, 

i  Both  printed  in  Mr.  Dyson's  edition  of  his  Poems,  1772. 


60  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

with  whom  Charles  Townshend  continued  in  inti 
mate  friendship  to  the  end  of  his  life."  1 

In  1750  (according  to  Mr.  Bucke),  he  also  ad 
dressed  an  Ode  "  To  William  Hall,  Esq.  with  the 
Works  of  Chaulieu."2  <  Mr.  Hall  belonged  to  the 
Middle  Temple,  and  moved  in  the  best  society; 
composed  verses  of  considerable  elegance,  and 
was  the  intimate  friend  of  Markland ; 3  but  in  li 
centiousness  of  life  he  seems  to  have  exceeded 
the  French  Abbe  whose  poems  were  presented  to 
him. 

In  1751,  on  the  appearance  of  a  work  from 
the  pen  of  Frederic,  king  of  Prussia,  entitled 
"  Memoires  pour  servir  a  1'Histoire  de  la  Maison 
de  Brandebourg,"  Akenside  wrote  a  short  Ode 

1  Bos-well's  Life  of  Johnson,  ed.  Croker,  iii.  367-8.      Mr. 
Bucke  carelessly  attributes  to  Johnson  the  remark  of  Boswell, 
on    the    friendship   of    Townshend  and  our  poet.  —  Life  of 
Akenside,  117. 

2  Printed  in  Mr.  Dyson's  edition  of  his  Poems,  1772,  where 
it  has  no  date. 

8  To  Mr.  Hall,  at  whose  expense  it  was  originally  printed, 
Markland  dedicated  his  treatise  "  De  Graecorum  Quinta  Decli- 
natione  Imparisyllabica,"  &c.  Hall  frequented  Tom's  Coffee 
house  in  Devereux  Court  (Nichols's  Lit.  An.  iv.  327),  where 
perhaps  Akenside  became  acquainted  with  him.  He  fell  into 
a  wretched  state  of  idiotcy,  and  died  a  maniac  at  Bath  in 
1766.  For  pleasing  specimens  of  his  poetical  powers,  see  two 
copies  of  verses  to  Miss  Lawrence  in  Dodsley's  Coll.  of  Poems, 
v.  219,  329,  —  "Vacation,"  "To  a  Lady  very  handsome,  but 
too  fond  of  dress,"  and  "  Anacreon,"  Ode  iii.  Id.  vi.  163 — 172, 
ed.  1782,  —  also  a  "  Sonnet  on  Lauder's  Forgeries,  to  Nicholas 
Hardinge,"  in  Nichols's  Lit.  An.  viii.  520. 


LIFE    OP  AKENSIDE.  61 

"  To  the  Author,"  *  &c.,  exposing  the  dangerous 
tendency  of  certain  passages ;  also  an  "  Ode  to 
Thomas  Edwards,"  on  Warburton's  edition  of 
Pope's  Works,  which  will  be  more  particularly 
mentioned  when  we  arrive  at  the  period  of  its 
publication. 

During  the  same  year,  he  was  held  up  to  ridi 
cule  in  the  "  Peregrine  Pickle  "  of  Smollett,  who, 
though  his  propensity  to  personal  satire  scarcely 
needed  such  incitement,  is  said  to  have  been 
piqued  at  some  reflections 2  which  the  poet  had 
cast  on  Scotland,  soon  after  his  return  from  Edin 
burgh.  That  the  ode-writing  "  Doctor,"  who  raves 
about  liberty,  and  treats  his  friends  to  an  enter 
tainment  in  the  manner  of  the  ancients,  was 
intended  for  a  caricature  of  Akerfside,  would  have 
been  evident  enough,  even  if  the  pedant  had  not 
been  made  to  quote,  as  his  own  composition,  two 
lines  from  the  "Ode  to  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon."3 

In  1753,  Akenside  was  admitted  by  mandamus 

1  Printed  in  Mr.  Dyson's  edition  of  his  Poems,  1772. 

2  Moore's  Life  of  Smollett,  cxxiii. 

3  "  0  fool!  to  think  Hie  man,  whose  ample  mind  must  grasp 
whatever  yonder  stars  survey  —  Pray,  Mr.  Pallet,  what  is  your 
opinion  of  that  image  of  the  mind  grasping  the  whole  universe? 
For  my  own  part,  I  can't  help  thinking  it  the  most  happy  con 
ception  that  ever  entered  my  imagination."  —  Per.  Pickle,  ii. 
110,  ed.  1751,  —  and  Smollett's  Works  (by  Moore),  iii.  330. — 
Desirous,  it  should  seem,  of  repairing  the  injustice  he  had  done 
to  our  author,  Smollett,  in  the  Continuation  of  the  Complete 
Hist,  of  England,  says,  "  Akenside  and  Armstrong  excelled  in 
didactic  poetry,"  iv.  126. 


62  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDB. 

to  a  Doctor's  Degree  at  Cambridge,  and  elected 
Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society :  in  1754  he  became 
Fellow  of  the  College  of  Physicians.1 

That  he  was  unwilling  to  cross  the  paths  of  his 
old  antagonist,  appears  from  the  following  note  to 
Dr.  Birch:  2  — 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  return  you  thanks  for  the 
pleasure  which  I  have  had  in  reading  these  two 
books. 

1  See  Cantab.  Grad.  —  Mr.  Bucke  erroneously  states  that  he 
took  his  Cambridge  degree  soon  after  returning  from  Holland. 
Life  of  Akenside,  173.  —  The  date  of  his  election  by  the  Royal 
Society  I  owe  to  J.  Hudson,  Esq.  For  the  following  extracts 
from  the  annals  of  the  College  of  Physicians,  I  have  to  thank 
Dr.  Francis  Hawkins,  their  Registrar:  — 

"  1751,  May  3d,  Dr.  Akenside  was  summoned  to  attend  the  Censor  • 

Board,  at  the  Royal  College  of  Physicians. 
June  6th,  examined  first  time  by  that  Board. 
June  20th,  examined  second  time,  when  he  produced  a  Diploma 

from  the  University  of  Leyden,  dated  May  16th,  1744. 
June  25th,  admitted  Licentiate  of  the  College  of  Physicians. 

1752,  The  College  of  Physicians  wrote  to  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the 
University  of  Cambridge  to  signify  that  the  College  had  no 
objection  to  the  degree  of  M.  D.  being  conferred  on  Dr.  Akenside 
by  mandamus. 

1753,  Feb.  2d,  he  was  examined  a  first  time  as  a  candidate  for  the 
Fellowship  of  the  College. 

Feb.  9th,  examined  a  second  time,  when  he  produced  a  Diploma 

from  Cambridge,  dated  Jan.  4th,  1753. 
March  8th,  examined  third  time. 
April  16th,  admitted  a  Candidate  of  the  College. 

1754,  April  8th,  admitted  Fellow. 

1755,  Sept.  30th,  chosen  Fourth  Censor  of  the  College,  with  Drs. 
Heberden,  Coxe,  and  William  Pitcairn;  Dr.  Reeve  being  Pre 
sident." 

a  Letters  to  Dr.  Birch,  4300,  in  the  Brit.  Mus. 


LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE.  63 

"I  see  this  instant,  in  the  Public  Advertiser, 
that  Dr.  Warburton  is  made  King's  Chaplain,  and 
enters  into  waiting  immediately.  Can  you  tell  me 
whether  this  be  true  ?  If  there  be  any  hazard  of 
finding  him  at  Kensington,  I  shall  not  chuse  to  go 
thither  to-day.  I  am  your  affectionate  humble 
servant,  "  M.  AKENSIDE." 

"Bloomsb.  Square, 

"  Saturday  Morn.  [Sept.  28, 1754]." 

His  encomiastic  "  Ode  to  the  Bishop  of  Winches 
ter"1  bears  date  the  same  year.  This  prelate 
was  the  celebrated  controversialist,  Dr.  Hoadley, 
whose  political  opinions  accorded  with  the  poet's. 

In  June,2  1755,  Akenside  read  the  Gulstonian 
Lectures  before  the  College  of  Physicians ;  a  por 
tion  of  which,  on.  the  origin  and  use  of  the  lym 
phatic  vessels  in  animals,  was  again  read  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Royal  Society,  and  printed  in  the 
Philosophical  Transactions  for  1757.3  Next  year 

1  Printed  in  the  sixth  volume  of  Dodsley's  Coll.  of  Poems, 
1758. 

2  See  the  two  following  notes.    But  Dr.  Francis  Hawkins, 
Registrar  to  the  College,  informs  me,  that,  according  to  the 
entries  in  their  annals,  Akenside  read  the  Gulstonian  Lectures 
on  May  28,  29,  and  30. 

»  Vol.  L.  Part  I.  p.  322  :  —  "  Observations  on  the  Origin  and 
Use  of  the  Lymphatic  Vessels  of  Animals ;  being  an  extract 
from  the  Gulstonian  Lectures,  read  in  the  Theatre  of  the  Col 
lege  of  Physicians  of  London,  in  June,  1755 : "  consisting  of  six 
pages.  In  consequence  of  a  misprint  in  this  essay,  Akenside 
wrote  the  follewing  letter  to  the  author  of  "  Clarissa,"  who,  it 
may  be  necessary  to  inform  some  readers,  was  a  printer:  — 


62  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

to  a  Doctor's  Degree  at  Cambridge,  and  elected 
Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society :  in  1754  he  became 
Fellow  of  the  College  of  Physicians.1 

That  he  was  unwilling  to  cross  the  paths  of  his 
old  antagonist,  appears  from  the  following  note  to 
Dr.  Birch:  2  — 

"  DEAR  SIR,  —  I  return  you  thanks  for  the 
pleasure  which  I  have  had  in  reading  these  two 
books. 

1  See  Cantab.  Grad.  —  Mr.  Bucke  erroneously  states  that  he 
took  his  Cambridge  degree  soon  after  returning  from  Holland. 
Life  of  Akenside,  173.  —  The  date  of  his  election  by  the  Royal 
Society  I  owe  to  J.  Hudson,  Esq.    For  the  following  extracts 
from  the  annals  of  the  College  of  Physicians,  I  have  to  thank 
Dr.  Francis  Hawkins,  their  Registrar:  — 

"  1751,  May  3d,  Dr.  Akenside  was  summoned  to  attend  the  Censor  s 

Board,  at  the  Royal  College  of  Physicians. 
June  6th,  examined  first  time  by  that  Board. 
June  20th,  examined  second  time,  when  he  produced  a  Diploma 

from  the  University  of  Leyden,  dated  May  16th,  1744. 
June  25th,  admitted  Licentiate  of  the  College  of  Physicians. 

1752,  The  College  of  Physicians  wrote  to  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  the 
University  of  Cambridge  to  signify  that  the  College  had  no 
objection  to  the  degree  of  M.  D.  being  conferred  on  Dr.  Akenside 
by  mandamus. 

1753,  Feb.  2d,  he  was  examined  a  first  time  as  a  candidate  for  the 
Fellowship  of  the  College. 

Feb.  9th,  examined  a  second  time,  when  he  produced  a  Diploma 

from  Cambridge,  dated  Jan.  4th,  1753. 
March  8th,  examined  third  time. 
April  16th,  admitted  a  Candidate  of  the  College. 

1754,  April  8th,  admitted  Fellow. 

1755,  Sept.  30th,  chosen  Fourth  Censor  of  the  College,  with  Drs. 
Heberden,  Coxe,  and  William  Pitcairn;  Dr.  Reeve  being  Pre 
sident." 

2  Letters  to  Dr.  Birch,  4300,  in  the  Brit  Mus. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  63 

"I  see  this  instant,  in  the  Public  Advertiser, 
that  Dr.  Warburton  is  made  King's  Chaplain,  and 
enters  into  waiting  immediately.  Can  you  tell  me 
whether  this  be  true  ?  If  there  be  any  hazard  of 
finding  him  at  Kensington,  I  shall  not  chuse  to  go 
thither  to-day.  I  am  your  affectionate  humble 
servant,  "  M.  AKENSIDE." 

"Bloomsb.  Square, 

"  Saturday  Morn.  [Sept.  28, 1754]." 

His  encomiastic  "  Ode  to  the  Bishop  of  Winches 
ter"1  bears  date  the  same  year.  This  prelate 
was  the  celebrated  controversialist,  Dr.  Hoadley, 
whose  political  opinions  accorded  with  the  poet's. 

In  June,2  1755,  Akenside  read  the  Gulstonian 
Lectures  before  the  College  of  Physicians ;  a  por 
tion  of  which,  on.  the  origin  and  use  of  the  lym 
phatic  vessels  in  animals,  was  again  read  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Royal  Society,  and  printed  in  the 
Philosophical  Transactions  for  1757.8  Next  year 

1  Printed  in  the  sixth  volume  of  Dodsley's  Coll.  of  Poems, 
1758. 

2  See  the  two  following  notes.    But  Dr.  Francis  Hawkins, 
Registrar  to  the  College,  informs  me,  that,  according  to  the 
entries  in  then:  annals,  Akenside  read  the  Gulstonian  Lectures 
on  May  28,  29,  and  30. 

8  Vol.  L.  Part  I.  p.  322  :  —  "  Observations  on  the  Origin  and 
Use  of  the  Lymphatic  Vessels  of  Animals ;  being  an  extract 
from  the  Gulstonian  Lectures,  read  in  the  Theatre  of  the  Col 
lege  of  Physicians  of  London,  in  June,  1755 : "  consisting  of  six 
pages.  In  consequence  of  a  misprint  in  this  essay,  Akenside 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  the  author  of  "  Clarissa,"  who,  it 
may  be  necessary  to  inform  some  readers,  was  a  printer:  — 


66  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

The  first  book  of  his  remodelled  "  Pleasures  of 
Imagination  "  is  dated  1757.  The  poem,  says  Mr. 
Dyson,  appeared  originally  "  at  a  very  early  part 
of  the  author's  life.  That  it  wanted  revision  and 
correction  he  was  sufficiently  sensible;  but  so 
quick  was  the  demand  for  several  successive  re- 
publications,  that  in  any  of  the  intervals  to  have 
completed  the  whole  of  his  corrections  was  utterly 
impossible ;  and  yet  to  have  gone  on  from  time  to 
time  in  making  farther  improvements  in  every  new 
edition,  would,  he  thought,  have  had  the  appear 
ance  at  least  of  abusing  the  favour  of  the  public : 
he  chose,  therefore,  to  continue  for  some  time  re 
printing  it  without  alteration,  and  to  forbear  pub 
lishing  any  corrections  or  improvements  until  he 
should  be  able  at  once  to  give  them  to  .the  public 
complete;  and  with  this  view  he  went  on  for 
several  years  to  review  and  correct  the  poem  at  his 
leisure,  till  at  length  he  found  the  task  grow  so 
much  upon  his  hands,  that,  despairing  of  ever  being 
able  to  execute  it  sufficiently  to  his  own  satisfac 
tion,  he  abandoned  the  purpose  of  correcting,  and 
resolved  to  write  the  poem  over  anew,  upon  a 
somewhat  different  and  an  enlarged  plan." l 

In  1758  2  he  endeavoured  to  excite  the  martial 

1  Advertisement    to    Mr.   Dyson's  edition  of   Akenside's 
Poems,  1772. 

2  Quarto,  price  6d. :   see  List  of  Books  for  March,  1758,  in 
Gent.  Mag.    Its  motto  is, 

"  rusticorum  mascula  militum 

Proles,  Sabeliis  docta  ligonibus 
Versare  glebas."  Hon. 


LIFE    OF   AKEXSIDE.  67 

spirit  of  the  nation  by  an  "  Ode  to  the  Country 
Gentlemen  of  England."  "  Mr.  Elliott,  father  of 
Lord  Minto,"  says  the  late  Mr.  Justice  Hardinge,1 
"made  an  admirable  speech  in  support  of  the 
Scotch  Militia,  which  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
hear  when  I  was  a  boy ;  and  it  was  reported,  that, 
when  commended  as  he  was  on  every  side  for  that 
performance, '  If  I  was  above  myself,'  he  answered, 
1 1  can  account  for  it ;  for  I  had  been  animated  by 
the  sublime  Ode  of  Dr.  Akenside.' " 

He,  soon  after,2  suffered  a  severe  attack  of 
sickness ;  on  the  abatement  of  which,  he  removed, 
for  change  of  air,  to  Goulder's  Hill,  the  seat  of 
Mr.  Dyson;  and,  during  a  short  stay  under  that 
friendly  roof,  he  composed  his  "  Ode  on  Recover 
ing,"  &c.,  which  contains  an  elegant  allusion  to  the 
recent  marriage  of  his  patron. 

Few  miscellanies  had  been  so  favourably  re 
ceived  by  the  public  as  Dodsley's  Collection  -of 

Whitehead,  the  laureat,  published  at  the  same  time  "  Verses  to 
the  People  of  England."  On  these  two  effusions  Byrom 
wrote  some  rhyming  "  Remarks,"  in  which  he  says:  — 

"  Really  these  fighting  poets  want  a  tutor, 
To  teach  them  ultra  crepidam  ne  sutor ; 
To  teach  the  doctor,  and  to  teach  the  laureat,          v 
Ex  Helicone  sanguinem  ne  hauriat : 
Though  blood  and  wounds  infect  its  limpid  stream, 
It  should  run  clear  before  they  sing  a  theme." 

1  In  a  long  letter  concerning  Akenside  (the  rest  of  which 
will  be  afterwards  quoted).  —  Nichols's  111.  of  Lit.  Hist.  viii.  524. 

2  "My  harp,  which  late  resounded  o'er  the  land 

The  voice  of  glory,"  &c. 

Ode  on  Recovering  from  a  Jit  of  Sickness  in  the  Country,  1758, 
printed  in  Mr.  Dyson's  edition  of  his  Poems,  1772. 


58  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

Poems  ;  and,  in  consequence  of  its  undiminished 
popularity,  it  was  enlarged  by  two  additional  vo 
lumes  in  1758.1  To  the  sixth  volume  Akenside 
contributed  a  "Hymn  to  the  Naiads ;""  Ode  to 
the  Earl  of  Huntingdon ;"  "  Ode  to  the  Bishop  of 
Winchester ;""  Inscription  for  a  Grotto;"  "For 
a  Statue  of  Chaucer  at  Woodstock ; "  one  begin 
ning  "  Whoe'er  thou  art,"  &c. ;  "  For  a  Statue  of 
Shakespeare ; "  "  On  William  the  Third  ; "  "  For  a 
Column  at  Runnymede  ; "  and  an  Ode,  "  If  rightly 
tuneful  bards  decide,"  &c.  None  of  these  pieces, 
except  the  second  in  the  list,  had  previously 
appeared. 

A  publication  of  this  year  (1758),  addressed  to 

1  Dodsley's  Collection  appeared  first,  in  three  volumes,  in 
1748;  the  fourth  volume  came  out  in  1755;  the  fifth  and  sixth 
volumes  were  published  in  1758. 

/  Gray's  remarks  on  the  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination "  have 
been  already  cited  (see  page  21,  note,  of  this  Memoir).  In 
March,  1758,  he  writes  thus  to  Dr.  Wharton :  — "  Then  here 
is  the  Miscellany  (Mr.  Dodsley  has  sent  me  the  whole  set  gilt 
and  lettered,  I  thank  him).  Why,  the  two  last  volumes  are 
worse  than  the  four  first:  particularly  Dr.  Akenside  is  in  a 
deplorable  way.  What  signifies  Learning  and  the  Ancients 
(Mason  will  say  triumphantly),  why  should  people  read  Greek 
to  lose  their  imagination,  their  ear,  and  their  mother-tongue  V  " 
Memoirs  of  Gray  by  Mason,  261,  ed.  1775. —  Could  such  a 
scholar  as  Gray  be  insensible  to  the  classic  beaiity  of  the 
"  Hymn  to  the  Naiads,"  and  the  "Inscriptions"  of  Akenside? 
Mr.  Bucke,  on  the  authority  of  Sir  Grey  Cooper,  states  that 
the  Inscription,  "  Whoe'er  thou  art,"  &c.,  tells  faithfully  the 
melancholy  fate  of  a  young  gentleman,  named  Weybridge,  who 
came  early  into  possession  of  a  small  property  in  the  county 
of  Northumberland.  —  Life  of  Akenside,  83. 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  69 

our  author,  must  not  pass  unnoticed.  It  is  the 
"Call  of  Aristippus,"1  an  Epistle  in  rhyme,  by 
the  ingenious  John  Gilbert  Cooper,  who,  designa 
ting  Akenside  as  the  "Twofold  Disciple  of  Apollo," 
assures  him  that  in  Elysium  Plato  and  Virgil  shall 
weave  him  a  never-fading  crown,  while  Lucretius, 
Pindar,  and  Horace  shall  willingly  yield  him  pre 
cedence.  The  panegyric  is  rendered  worthless  by 
its  extravagance. 

In  January,  1759,  Akenside  was  appointed  as 
sistant  Physician  to  St.  Thomas's  Hospital,  and, 
two  months  after,  principal  Physician.  In  the 
same  year  he  became  assistant  Physician  to 
Christ's  Hospital.  Of  his  behaviour,  in  his  offi 
cial  capacity,  at  the  former  institution,  the  follow 
ing  anecdotes  are  preserved.  As  they  must  tend 
to  lower  him  in  the  estimation  of  the  reader,  I 
transcribe  them  with  a  feeling  of  reluctance ;  but 
I  should  not  have  thought  myself  justified  in  sup 
pressing  them,  as  Mr.  Bucke  has  done,  even  if 
they  had  been  derived  from  a  less  respectable 
source  than  the  "  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Lettsom."  I  am 
willing,  however,  to  believe  that  practice  at  an 
hospital  may  frequently  present  occurrences  to 
disturb  the  temper  of  the  mildest  physician. 

Lettsom,  when  a  young  man,  says  Mr.  Petti- 

1  It  was  a  sequel  to  three  "  Epistles  to  the  Great,  from 
Aristippus  in  Retirement,"  4to.  Cooper  had  previously  men 
tioned  Akenside  with  absurdly  exaggerated  commendation  in 
"Letters  concerning  Taste  : "  see  ed.  1755,  p.  101. 


70  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

grew,  "  entered  [at  St.  Thomas's  Hospital]  as  a 
surgeon's  dresser,  under  Benjamin  Cowell,  Esq. 
The  other  surgeons  were  Mr.  Baker  and  Mr. 
Smith,  men  of  no  great  eminence.  The  phy 
sicians  were  Akenside,  Russell,  and  Grieve. 
Lettsom  was  early  fond  of  poetry,  and  had  read 
the  '  Pleasures  of  Imagination '  with  admiration. 
He  anticipated  great  pleasure  in  coming  under 
the  author's  notice;  for,  by  a  small  premium,  a 
surgeon's  pupil  is  admitted  to  the  practice  of  the 
Physicians  of  the  Hospital.  Great,  however,  was 
his  disappointment  in  finding  Dr.  Akenside  the 
most  supercilious  and  unfeeling  physician  that  he 
had  hitherto  known.  If  the  poor  affrighted  pa 
tients  did  not  return  a  direct  answer  to  his  queries, 
he  would  often  instantly  discharge  them  from  the 
Hospital.  He  evinced  a  particular  disgust  to  fe 
males,  and  generally  treated  them  with  harshness. 
It  was  stated  that  this  moroseness  was  occasioned 
by  disappointment  in  love ;  but  hapless  must  have 
been  that  female  who  should  have  been  placed 
under  his  tyranny.  Lettsom  was  inexpressibly 
shocked  at  an  instance  of  Dr.  Akenside's  inhu 
manity,  exercised  towards  a  patient  in  Abraham's 
Ward,  to  whom  he  had  ordered  bark  in  boluses ; 
who,  in  consequence  of  not  being  able  to  swallow 
them,  so  irritated  Akenside,  as  to  order  the  sister 
of  the  Ward  to  discharge  him  from  the  hospital ; 
adding,  '  he  shall  not  die  under  my  care.'  As  the 
sister  was  removing  him,  in  obedience  to  the  Doc- 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  71 

tor,  the  patient  expired.  One  leg  of  Dr.  Akenside 
was  considerably  shorter  than  the  other,  which 
was  in  some  measure  remedied  by  the  aid  of  a 
false  heel.  He  had  a  pale  strumous  countenance, 
but  was  always  very  neat  and  elegant  in  his  dress. 
He  wore  a  large  white  wig,  and  carried  a  long 
sword.  Lettsom  never  knew  him  to  spit,  nor 
would  he  suffer  any  pupil  to  spit  in  his  presence. 
One  of  them  once  accidentally  did  so,  yet  stand 
ing  at  some  distance  behind  him.  The  Doctor 
instantly  spun  round  on  his  artificial  heel,  and  has 
tily  demanded,  who  was  the  person  that  spit  in  his 
face?  Sometimes  he  would  order  some  of  the 
patients,  on  his  visiting  days,  to  precede  him  with 
brooms  to  clear  the  way,  and  prevent  the  patients 
from  too  nearly  approaching  him.  On  one  of  these 
occasions,  Richard  Chester,  one  of  the  Governors, 
upbraided  him  for  his  cruel  behaviour :  '  Know,' 
said  he,  '  thou  art  a  servant  of  this  Charity/  On 
one  occasion  his  anger  was  excited  to  a  very  high 
pitch,  by  the  answer  which  Mr.  Baker,  the  sur 
geon,  gave  to  a  question  the  Doctor  put  to  him, 
respecting  one  of  his  sons,  who  was  subject  to 
epilepsy,  which  had  somewhat  impaired  his  under 
standing, —  'To  what  study  do  you  purpose  to 
place  him?'  said  Akenside  to  Baker.  '  I  find,' 
replied  Baker,  'he  is  not  capable  of  making  a 
surgeon,  so  I  have  sent  him  to  Edinburgh  to 
make  a  physician  of  him.'  Akenside  turned 
round  from  Baker  with  impetuosity,  and  would 


\ 

72  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

not  speak  to  him  for  a  considerable  time  after 
wards.  Dr.  Russell  was  as  condescending  as 
Akenside  was  petulant.  Akenside,  however, 
•would  sometimes  condescend  to  explain  a  case 
of  disease  to  the  pupils,  which  always  appeared 
sagacious ;  and,  notwithstanding  his  irritable  tem 
per,  he  was  more  followed  than  Russell  by  the 
pupils." 1 

In  October,  1759,  Akenside  delivered  the  Har- 
veian  Oration  before  the  College  of  Physicians, 
by  whose  order  it  was  next  year  given  to  the 
press.2 

In  June,  1761,  Mr.  Thomas  Hollis  (as  his  bio 
grapher  informs  us)  "  bought  a  bed  which  once 
belonged  to  John  Milton,  and  on  which  he  died. 
This  bed  he  sent  as  a  present  to  Dr.  Akenside, 
with  the  following  card :  *  An  English  gentleman 
is  desirous  of  having  the  honour  to  present  a  bed 
which  once  belonged  to  John  Milton,  and  on 
which  he  died,  to  Dr.  Akenside ;  and  if  the  Doc 
tor's  genius,  believing  himself  obliged,  and  having 
slept  in  that  bed,  should  prompt  him  to  write  an 
ode  to  the  memory  of  John  Milton  and  the  as- 
sertors  of  British  liberty,  that  gentleman  would 

1  Pettigrew's  Memoirs  of  Dr.  Lettsom,  i.  21. 

2  "  Oratio  Anniversaria,  quam  ex  Harveii  institute  in  thea- 
tro  Collegii  Regalis  Medicorum  Loudinensis  Die  Octobris  xviii 
A.  MDCCLIX  habuit  Marcus  Akenside,  M.  D.  Coll.  Med.  et 
Reg.  Societ.  Socius."  1760,  4to,  pp.  24. —  It  is  dedicated  to  Dr. 
Reeve,  the  President,  and  to  the  Fellows  of  the  College  of  Phy 
sicians. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  73 

think  himself  abundantly  recompensed.'  The 
Doctor  seemed  wonderfully  delighted  with  this 
bed,  and  had  it  put  up  in  his  house.  But  more 
we  do 'not  know  of  the  delight  the  Doctor  took  in 
his  present ;  nor  the  least  memorandum  of  an  ac 
knowledgment  to  Mr.  Hollis,  through  Mr.  Payne 
or  otherwise,  for  it  appearing.  And  as  to  the  ode, 
the  Doctor  might  learn  from  his  friend  Dyson, 
that  an  encomium  of  Milton,  as  an  assertor  of 
British  liberty  at  that  time  of  the  day,  was  not 
the  thing."  1  The  sneering  allusion  in  the  latter 
part  of  this  passage  will  be  explained  by  the  cir 
cumstances  which  I  have  now  to  relate,  and 
which  perhaps  made  the  democrat  Hollis  think 
Akenside  no  longer  fit  to  occupy  the  bed  of  Milton. 
Hitherto  both  Mr.  Dyson  and  our  poet  had 
espoused  the  cause  of  liberty  with  such  an  ardour, 
as  to  induce  suspicions,  certainly  unjust,  that  they 
were  the  advocates  of  republicanism.  On  the 
accession,  however,  of  George  the  Third,  the 
former  suddenly  became  a  Tory,  and  the  supporter 
of  Lord  Bute ;  and,  though  the  general  excel 
lence  of  his  character  forbids  us  to  believe  for  one 
moment  that  his  conversion  was  purchased,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  clear  him  from  the  charge  of 
inconsistency.  By  Mr.  Dyson's  influence,  Aken 
side  was  appointed  one  of  the  Physicians  to  the 
Queen,  on  the  settlement  of  her  Majesty's  house- 

i  Memoirs  of  Thomas  HoUis,  111. 
F 


74  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

hold  in  1761;1  and,  from  that  period,  his  Whig 
acquaintances,  in  whose  eyes  the  acceptance  of 
such  a  situation  was  a  dereliction  of  principle,  re 
garded  his  political  apostacy  as  not  less  flagrant 
than  that  of  his  patron.  The  subject  now  in 
question  being  several  times  alluded  to  in  the  fol 
lowing  curious  anecdotes,  I  have  reserved  them 
for  this  part  of  the  memoir.  They  are  from  the 
pen  of  Mr.  Justice  Hardinge,2  whose  father  Mr,. 
Dyson  succeeded  as  Clerk  to  the  House  of  Com 
mons,8  and  to  whose  uncle,  the  physician,  our 
Poet  has  addressed  an  Ode.4 

"  Dr.  Akenside  was  known  to  my  father,  as 
being  Mr.  Dyson's  friend,  long  before  he  was 
known  to  me.  As  to  Mr.  Dyson's  knowledge  of 
Mr.  Hardinge,  it  originated  in  their  contract  for 
the  succession  of  Mr.  Dyson  to  the  post  of  Chief 
Clerk  in  the  House  of  Commons,  when  Mr.  Har- 

1  In  the  "  List  of  the  establishment  made  by  his  Majesty 
for  the  household  of  the  future  Queen,"  printed  in  the  St. 
James's  Chronicle  for  September  5th,  1761,  we  find,  — 

"  Physicians,  —  Dr.  Letherland,  Dr.  Akenside. 
Physician  to  the  Household,  —  Dr.  Pringle." 

2  George  Hardinge,  senior  Justice  of  the  Counties  of  Bre 
con,  Glamorgan,  and  Radnor,  died  at  Presteigne,  April  26th, 
1816,  in  his  seventy-second  year.    The  talents  and  acquire 
ments  of  this  eccentric  man  were  of  a  superior  order.     See  his 
"Essence  of  Malojae,"  &c.,  —  his  contributions  to  Nichols's 
"  Illust.  of  Lit.  History,"  and  "  Literary  Anecdotes,"  —  and  his 
"  Miscellaneous  Works  in  Prose  and  Verse,"  3  vols.  with  Me 
moirs  of  the  Author. 

*  See  page  60  of  this  Memoir.        *  See  page  53,  id. 


LIFE    OF    AKENS1DE.  75 

dinge  was  preparing  to  resign  it ;  and  the  inter 
course,  ripening  into  mutual  esteem,  produced  a 
cordial  friendship,  which  lasted  as  long  as  Mr. 
Hardinge  lived. 

"  The  first  I  can  recollect  of  my  own  personal 
acquaintance  with  Dr.  Akenside's  name  and  muse 
was  my  father's  recital  to  me,  when  I  was  a  boy 
at  Eton  School,  of  the  invocation  to  ancient 
Greece,  in  that  celebrated  poem  which  has  been 
so  depreciated  by  Dr.  Johnson,  that  I  fear  no 
error  of  judgment  and  of  taste,  manifest  in  that 
criticism,  can  redeem  the  censure  from  heavier 
imputations.  This  inspired  passage,  as  I  think  it 
still,  was  recommended  additionally  to  me  by  the 
charm  of  recitation,  in  which  not  even  Garrick 
himself  could  be  superior  to  Mr.  Nicholas  Har 
dinge,  though  he  wanted  either  nerves  or  powers 
to  make  a  figure  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
though  he  had  no  musical  ear.  But  his  reading 
and  repeating  ear,  if  I  may  use  that  phrase,  was 
exquisite ;  and  his  accent,  prompted  by  his  judg- . 
ment,  uniformly  just.  It  is  very  singular,  but  it 
is  true,  that  Akenside  was  not  a  good  reader  of  his 
own  verse. 

"  My  father  admired  him  as  a  gifted  poet,  as  a 
man  of  genius,  of  learning,  and  of  taste.  They 
were  upon  friendly  terms.  I  have  heard  Aken 
side  represent  my  father  as  a  man  of  admirable 
taste  and  judgment,  of  perfect  honour,  and  of  the 
kindest  affections  that  ever  breathed  in  a  human 


76  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

breast.  As  I  grew  up  into  man,  Akenside  hon 
oured  me  with  a  most  affectionate  regard,  which  I 
forfeited,  as  you  will  have  occasion  to  see,  a  little 
before  his  death,  to  my  infinite  regret ;  but,  I  am 
sorry  to  add,  with  no  remorse,  for  I  was  more 
* sinrfd  against  than  sinning' 

"  When  I  was  at  College,  he  sent  me  a  letter  of 
advice  and  of  directions  for  the  course  of  my  aca 
demical  studies,  which,  in  style  and  conception, 
was  the  most  ingenious  and  masterly  work  that 
ever  that  arduous  topic  has  produced.  In  general, 
to  do  him  justice,  he  wrote  English  prose  with 
purity,  with  ease,  and  with  spirit :  in  verse  he  was 
occasionally  a  little  quaint,  laboured,  and  inflated ; 
but  I  never  discerned  any  such  vice  in  his  prose. 

"  When  I  came  from  College  to  the  Inns  of 
Court,  besides  the  opportunity  of  seeing  him  often 
at  Mr.  Dyson's  house,  and  with  my  uncle  Dr. 
Hardinge,  I  was  often  his  dinner-guest,  and  gene 
rally  with  him  alone.  In  addition  to  all  his 
powers,  arising  from  his  genius  and  his  eloquence, 
I  had  the  enjoyment  of  his  portfolio,  enriched  by 
capital  prints  from  the  most  eminent  painters  of 
Italy  and  Holland,  which  he  illustrated  with  admi 
rable  taste. 

"  He  had  in  general  society  a  pomp  and  stiff 
ness  of  manner,  not  of  expression,  in  which  last  he 
was  no  less  chaste  than  flowing  and  correct.  But 
the  misfortune  of  this  manner  was  in  some  degree 
connected  with  his  figure  and  appearance.  He 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  77 

looked  as  if  he  never  could  be  undressed ;  and  the 
Liich  in  his  gait,  whatever  gave  rise  to  it  (a  sub 
ject  of  obloquy  too  despicable  to  be  answered,  and 
which  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you  have  transcribed), 
compared  with  a  solemn  cast  in  his  features,  was, 
at  the  best,  of  a  kind  that  was  not  companionable, 
and  rather  kept  strangers  at  a  distance  from  him. 
Though  his  features  were  good,  manly,  and  expres 
sive,  a  pale  complexion  of  rather  a  sickly  hue,  and 
the  laboured  primness  of  a  powdered  wig  in  stiff 
curl,  made  his  appearance  altogether  unpromising, 
if  not  grotesque.  But,  where  he  was  intimate,  was 
admired,  and  was  pleased  with  his  party,  he  con 
versed  most  eloquently  and  gracefully.  He  had 
the  misfortune,  however,  to  have  little  or  no  taste 
for  humour  ;  and  he  took  a  jest l  very  ill.  Except 
in  his  political  morality,  which  I  could  not  admire, 
Dr.  Akenside  was  a  man  of  perfect  honor,  friendly, 
and  liberal.  His  religious  opinions  were,  I  believe, 
a  little  whimsical  and  peculiar ;  but,  in  general,  he 
^  kept  them^  very  much  to  himself.  He  and  Mr. 
Dyson  had  both  originally  been  Dissenters.  He 
was  irritable,  had  little  restraint  upon  his  temper 
among  strangers,  and  was  either  peevish  or  too 
oracular  and  sententious.  He  wanted  gaiety  of 
heart  in  society,  and  had  no  wit  in  his  muse  or  in 
his  eloquence.  I  don't  believe  he  had  much  depth 

1  "  Dr.  Akenside  had  no  wit,"  says  Mr.  Justice  Hardinge, 
in  a  subsequent  communication  to  Mr.  Nichols.  —  Lit.  Anec. 
viii.  625. 


78  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

of  medical  science,  or  much  acuteness  of  medical 
sagacity ;  he  certainly  had  no  business  or  fame  in 
that  line.  His  great  powers,  besides  the  talent  of 
poetry,  were  those  of  eloquent  reasoning,  historical 
knowledge,  and  philosophical  taste,  enlivened  by 
the  happiest  and  most  brilliant  allusions.  He  had 
an  astonishing  memory,  and  a  most  luminous  ap 
plication  of  it.  I  recollect  that  he  read  gratis  all 
the  modern  books  of  any  character,  and  that  he 
had  the  right  conferred  upon  him  of  opening  the 
leaves.  His  comments  were  cherished;  and,  if 
the  book  struck  him  with  a  powerful  impression,  I 
believe  it  was  generally  given  to  him  by  the  book 
seller. 

"  He  lived  incomparably  well ;  and,  as  I  knew 
of  no  other  source  to  his  income  but  his  constant 
friend  Mr.  Dyson's  munificence  to  him,  I  rejoiced 
in  it  for  the  honour  of  them  both.  I  never  saw  any 
thing  like  their  friendship,  and  their  union  of  sen 
timents  ;  yet  nothing  was  more  dissimilar  than 
were  the  two  men.  Mr.  Dyson  was  quite  a  man 
of  business,  of  order  and  figures,  of  parliamentary 
forms,  and  of  political  argument.  His  character 
(bating  an  amiable  partiality  in  the  eulogist)  is 
well  drawn  by  Mr.  Hatsell.  He  had  neither 
fancy  nor  eloquence ;  and,  though  he  had  strong 
prejudices,  he  veiled  them  in  obliging  manners. 

"  The  misfortune  of  their  politics  (and  I  was  the 
victim  of  it  in  some  degree)  was,  that,  upon  the 
accession  of  this  reign,  they  entirely  and  radically 


LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE.  79 

changed  them ;  for  they  became  bigoted  adherents 
to  Lord  Bute  aa'd  the  Tories,  having  at  every  ear 
lier  period  been,  as  it  were,  the  High  Priests  of 
the  opposite  creed.  Mr.  Dyson  was  preferred,  and 
was  ultimately  pensioned.  His  friend,  whom  he 
always  bore  in  mind,  was  made  Physician  to  the 
Queen  —  Ex  itto  fluere  ;  from  that*period,  both  of 
them  were  converts,  and  zealots,  of  course,  for  the 
New  Religion.  My  uncle,  Dr.  Hardinge,  whose 
wit  and  penetrating  judgment  had  no  delicacy  hi 
their  blow,  often  told  them  both,  when  they  were 
young  men  (and  with  an  oath  which  I  must  not 
repeat),  'that,  like  a  couple  of  idiots,  they  did 
not  leave  themselves  a  loop-hole,  —  they  could  not 
sidle  away  into  the  opposite  creed.' 

"  As  my  opinions  were  naturally  upon  the  same 
line  of  politics  which  Lord  Camden1  uniformly 
adopted  and  pursued,  I  offended  my  admired  friend 
the  Poet,  by  too  open  a  disclosure  of  my  political 
faith,  insignificant,  qualified,  and  perfectly  unas 
suming,  as  it  was.  It  made  a  coolness  between 
us ;  but  I  believe  that  his  original  friendship  to  me 
was  never  essentially  impaired. 

"  My  uncle,  Dr.  Hardinge,  was  a  comic  tyrant 
over  all  his  friends.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  for 
get  an  evening  of  civil  war,  and  another  of  peace, 
between  these  two  physicians.  Dr.  Akenside  was 
the  guest ;  and  at  supper,  by  a  whimsical  accident, 
they  fell  into  a  dispute  upon  the  subject  of  a  bilious 

1  Mr.  Justice  Hardinge  was  the  nephew  of  this  noblemen. 


80  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

colic.  They  were  both  of  them  absurdly  eager 
Dr.  Hardinge  had  a  contempt  for  every  physician 
but  himself;  and  he  held  the  Poet  very  cheap  in 
that  line.  He  laughed  at  him,  and  said  the  rudest 
things  to  him.  The  other,  who  never  took  a  jest 
in  good  part,  flamed  into  invective;  and  Mrs. 
Hardinge,  as  clever  in  a  different  way  as  either  of 
them,  could  with  difficulty  keep  the  peace  between 
them.  Dr.  Akenside  ordered  his  chariot,  and 
swore  that  he  would  never  come  into  the  house^ 
again.  The  other,  who  was  the  kindest-hearted 
of  men,  feeling  that  he  had  goaded  his  friend, 
called  upon  him  the  next  morning,  and,  in  a  man 
ner  quite  his  own,  made  a  perfect  reconcilement, 
which  terminated  in  a  pacific  supper  the  following 
night,  when,  by  a  powerful  stroke  of  humour,  the 
host  convulsed  the  sides  of  his  guest  with  laughter, 
and  they  were  in  delightful  unison  together  the 
whole  evening.  l  Do  you  kn — kn — know,  Doc 
tor/  said  he  (for  he  stammered),  'that  I  b — bought 
a  curious  pamphlet  this  m — orning  upon  a  st — 
stall,  and  I'll  give  you  the  t — title  of  it :  An  Ace — 
count  of  a  curious  dispute  between  D — Dr.  Y.  and 
D — Dr.  Z.  concerning  a  b — b — bilious  c — colic, 
which  terminated  in  a  d — duel  between  the  two 
ph — physicians,  which  t — terminated  in  the  d — 
death  of  both: 1 

1  Here  I  have  omitted  some  critical  remarks  by  Mr.  Har 
dinge  on  Akenside's  poetry,  and  the  anecdote  of  Mr.  Elliott 
already  quoted,  see  p.  67  of  this  Memoir. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  81 

"  As  far  as  I  can  recollect,  his  friends,  besides 
Mr.  Dyson,  were  chiefly  Dr.  Heberden,  Dr.  Har- 
dinge,  Mr.  Cracherode,  Mr.  Thomas  Townshend, 
the  first  Lord  Sydney's  father,  Mr.  Tyrwhitt,  the 
Archbishop  of  York,  and  Mr.  Wray.  He  was  a 
most  unprejudiced  and  candid  estimator  of  con 
temporary  poets,  for  which  I  admired  him  the 
more  'on  account  of  its  amiable  singularity. 

"  But  I  mu§t  not  forget  here  to  mention  perhaps 
the  most  curious  feature  of  his  life.  It*is  in  the 
partial  but  very  awkward  change  which  his  new 
politics  at  court  made  in  those  of  the  Poet.  You 
will  find  a  memorable  proof  to  this  point.  In  the 
first  edition  of  the  work,  these  lines  appear :  — 

'  Wilt  them,  kind  Harmony,  descend, 
And  join  the  festive  train ;  for  with  thee  comes 
Majestic  TRUTH;  and,  where  TRUTH  deigns  to  come, 
Her  Sister  LIBERTY  will  not  be  far.' 

And  in  the  second  edition :  — 

1  For  with  thee  comes 

Wise  ORDER;  and,  where  ORDER  deigns  to  come, 
Her  Sister  LIBERTY  will  not  be  far.'  "  1 

After  all,  neither  in  the  alterations  just  pointed 
out,  nor  in  others  made  by  the  author  in  his  Odes,a 
is  there  any  thing  indicative  of  violent  Tory  zeal ; 

1  Nichols's  Lit.  Anec.  viii.  521,  525. 

2  "  In  the  Ode  "  On  Leaving  Holland,"  the  three  following 
lines,— 

'  I  go  where  freedom  in  the  streets  is  known, 
And  tells  a  monarch  on  his  throne, 
Tells  him  he  reigns,  he  lives,  but  by  her  voice.' 

are  thus  changed  in  the  last  edition :  — 


82  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

and  it  should  be  remembered,  that  Mr.  Hardinge, 
who  asserts  in  the  above  Anecdotes  that  Akenside 
became  as  bigoted  a  partisan  of  the  Tories  as  he 
had  been  of  the  Whigs,  has  elsewhere  declared, 
that  "his  politics  were  illegi ble" l 

We  have  been  told  in  the  preceding  page,  that 
Akenside  "  was  a  most  unprejudiced  and  candid 
estimator  of  contemporary  poets ; "  and  the  remark 
will  be  illustrated  by  the  scattered  notices  which  I 
shall  now  throw  together. 

In  the  course  of  a  conversation  on  Pope's  "  Es 
say  on  Man,"  he  assented  to  the  opinion  of  Joseph 
Warton,  that  "  the  fourth  Epistle  on  Happiness  is 
adscititious,  and  out  of  its  proper  place,  and  ought 
to  have  made  part  of  the  second  Epistle,  where 
Man  is  considered  with  respect  to  himself." 2 

'  I  go  where  liberty  to  all  is  known, 
And  tells  a  monarch  on  his  throne, 
He  reigns  not  but  by  her  preserving  yoice.' 

In  the  Ode  '  To  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon,'  the  four  subsequent 
lines,  which  originally  were  — 

'  But  here,  where  freedom's  equal. throne 
To  all  her  valiant  sons  is  known; 
Where  all  direct  the  sword  she  wears, 
And  each  the  power  which  rules  him  shares,' 

are  corrected  as  follows,  in  the  third  line :  — 
4  Where  all  are  conscious  of  her  cares.1 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  these  particular  alterations,  it  is 
certain  that  a  most  ardent  spirit  of  liberty  breathes  through 
Dr.  Akenside's  works."  —  Biog.  Brit. :  note  by  Kippis. 

1  "  His  [H.  Walpole'sJ  politics  were  as  illegible,  if  I  may  use 
that  phrase,  as  those  of  Dr.  Akenside."  —  Nichols's  III.  of  Lit. 
Hist.  viii.  526. 

2  Warton's  edition  of  Pope's  Works,  iii.  123. 


LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE.  83 

He  was  a  great  admirer  of  Gothic  architecture, 
and  would  -frequently  sit  by  moonlight  on  the 
benches  in  St.  James's  Park,  to  gaze  on  West 
minster  Abbey;  "and  I  remember,"  adds  Mr. 
Meyrick,  "  he  once  told  me  that  he  seldom  thought 
of  the  passage  in  his  own  poem, 

*  The  radiant  sun,  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp,'  &c. 

but  he  thought  of  a  still  finer  one  in  Pope's 
Homer :  — 

*  As  when  the  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of  night,'  "  &C.1 

It  has  been  rashly  supposed,  that,  in  the  follow 
ing  passage  of  the  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination," 
he  alludes  to  Pope :  — 

"  Thee,  too,  facetious  Momion,  wandering  here;2 
Thee,  dreaded  censor !  oft  have  I  beheld 
Bewilder'd  unawares,"  &c.  &c.  —  B.  in.  179. 

But  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  Akenside 
never  saw  Pope,  who  died  a  few  months  after  the 
appearance  of  the  poem,  for  which  he  had  advised 
Dodsley  to  make  a  handsome  offer.8 

With  Thomson's  "  Castle  of  Indolence  "  he  was 
enraptured :  among  many  stanzas,  to  which,  in  his 
own  copy,  he  had  put  an  emphatic  mark  of  appro 
bation,  was  that  beginning  — 

"  I  care  not,  fortune,  what  you  me  deny,"  &c.4 

1  Bucke's  Life  of  Akenside,  212. 

2  [By  Momion  is  probably  intended  Richard  Dawes,  Mas 
ter  of  the  Newcastle  Grammar  School,  and  author  of  Mis 
cellanea  Critica.    See  note  on  p.  109.] 

a  See  p.  20  of  this  Memoir.    *  Bucke's  Life  of  Akenside,  81. 


84  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

He  repeatedly  mentioned  Fenton's  "  Ode  to 
Lord  Gower,"  as  "  the  best  in  our  language,  next 
to  Alexander's  Feast ; "  l  and,  at  his  desire,  Wel- 
sted's  Ode,  "  The  Genius,  written  in  1717,  on 
occasion  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's  Apoplexy," 
was  inserted  in  the  fourth  volume  of  Dodsley's 
Collection  of  Poems.2 

That  he  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the 
author  of  "  The  Fleece,"  and  lent  him  some  assist 
ance  in  the  composition  of  that  poem,  appears  from 
a  letter  of  Dyer  to  Duncombe,  November  24th, 
1756 :  —  "  Your  humble  servant  is  become  a 
deaf  and  dull  and  languid  creature ;  who,  however, 
in  his  poor  change  of  constitution,  being  a  little 
recompensed  with  the  critic's  phlegm,  has  made 
shift,  by  many  blottings  and  corrections,  and  some 
helps  from  his  kind  friend  Dr.  Akenside,  to  give 
a  sort  of  finishing  to  the  '  Fleece,'  which  is  just 
sent  up  to  Mr.  Dodsley."8  Johnson  informs  us 
that  Akenside  declared  "he  would  regulate  his 
opinion  of  the  reigning  taste  by  the  rule  of  Dyer's 
Fleece ;  for,  if  that  were  ill-received,  he  should  not 
think  it  any  longer  reasonable  to  expect  fame  from 

1  Warton's  edition  of  Pope's  Works,  ii.  401. 

2  Id.  v.  198.  —  With  Weisted,  who  died  in  1747,  Akenside  is 
said  to  have  been  acquainted.    His  Works,  published  by  Nichols 
in  1787,  contain  several  pieces  which  show  that  his  talents  at 
least  did  not  deserve  the  contempt  of  Pope. 

3  Letters  by  several  Eminent  Persons,  including  the  Corre 
spondence  of  Hughes,"  iii.  58.    Yet  Mr.  Bucke  says  it  does  not 
appear  that  Akenside  was  intimate  with  Dyer !  —  Life  ofAken- 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  85 

excellence."1  The  works  of  Dyer,  though  ne 
glected  by  the  multitude,  will  be  always  esteemed 
by  the  reader  of  taste  and  feeling,  for  the  true 
poetic  fancy  and  the  love  of  natural  objects  which 
they  everywhere  display. 

A  passage  in  the  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination," 

"  To  muse  at  last  amid  the  ghostly  gloom 
Of  graves  and  hoary  vaults,"  &c.  —  B.  i.  396. 

and  a  stanza  in  a  "  Preface  "  to  the  Odes, 

"  Nor  where  the  boding  raven  chaunts,"  &c. 

are  said  to  have  been  aimed  at  Young,  though  I 
cannot  perceive  in  them  such  "  a  palpable  stroke  " 
as  Mrs.  Barbauld2  has  discovered.  It  has  not, 
however,  been  noticed,  that,  in  the  first  edition  of 
the  "  Hymn  to  Cheerfulness,"  Akenside  mentions 
the  author  of  the  "  Night  Thoughts  "  by  name  :  — 

"  Let  Melancholy's  plaintive  tongue 
Instruct  the  nightly  strains  of  Young ; " 

a  couplet  which  he  afterwards  altered  thus :  — 

"  Let  Melancholy's  plaintive  tongue 
Repeat  what  later  bards  have  sung." 

The  Ode  "On  Lyric  Poetry"  closes  with  a 
stanza  remarkable  for  its  allusion  to  an  epic  poem 
which  the  author  meditated,  as  well  as  to  a  cele 
brated  work  of  the  same  kind  by  a  contemporary 
writer :  — 

1  Life  of  Dyer. 

8  Essay  on  the  Pleasures  of  Imagination. 


86  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

"  But  when  from  envy  and  from  death  to  claim 
A  hero  bleeding  for  his  native  land, 
When  to  throw  incense  on  the  vestal  flame 
Of  Liberty  my  genius  gives  command, 
Nor  Theban  voice  nor  Lesbian  Ivre 
From  thee,  0  Muse,  do  I  require, 
While  my  presaging  mind, 
Conscious  of  powers  she  never  kneAV, 
Astonish' d  grasps  at  things  beyond  her  view, 
Nor  by  another's  fate  submits  to  be  confin'd." 

Akenside  had  selected  Timoleon *  for  the  hero  of 
his  poem,  in  which,  it  appears,  he  had  even  made 
some  progress.  The  last  line  of  the  stanza  (as  he 
told  Warton)  is  pointed  at  the  "  Leonidas "  of 
Glover.2 

From  this  digression  I  return  to  the  regular 
annals  of  the  Poet's  life.  Among  Birch's  MSS.8 
is  the  following  note,  which  shews  that  he  accom- 

1  Warton's  edition  of  Pope's  Works,  ii.  73.    A  writer  who 
signs  himself  Indagator,  in  the  Gent.  Mag.  for  October,  1793, 
(Ixiii.  885),  says,  "  I  have  proof,  though  it  has  never  been  men 
tioned  to  the  world,  that  he  had  made  some  progress  in  an  Epic 
Poem,  the  plan  of  which  I  know  not;  the  title  of  it  was  "  Ti 
moleon."     An  Epic  Poem  on  the  same  subject  was  once  de 
signed  by  Pope,  and  was  also  proposed  by  Lord  Melcombe  to 
Thomson. 

2  Warton's  edition  of  Pope's  Works,  ii.  73.    I  may  add 
here,  that  Akenside  agreed  with  Warton,  Lowth,  and  Harris, 
in  thinking  that  no  critical  treatise  was  better  calculated  to 
form  the  taste  of  young  men  of  genius  than  Spence's  "  Essay 
on  Pope's  Odyssey,  Id.  Life,"  xxxvi.,  and  that  he  considered 
"  The  Memoirs  of  Lord  Bolingbroke  "  as  a  worthless  produc 
tion.  —  Letter  from  Birch  to  Wray,  in  Nichols's  III.  of  Lit.  Hut. 
iv.  534. 

»  Letters  to  Birch,  4300,  hi  the  Brit.  Mus. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  87 

panied  the  deputation  sent  by  the  University  of 
Cambridge  to  congratulate  the  king  and  queen  on 
their  nuptials :  — 

"  Dr.  Akenside  presents  his  compliments  to  Dr. 
Birch,  and  begs  the  favour  that  he  would  lend  him 
a  band,  in  order  that  he  may  attend  the  Cambridge 
address  to-morrow. 

"  Craven-street,  Sept.  13  "  [1761]. 

About  two  years  before  this  date,  Akenside  had 
quitted  his  house  in  Bloomsbury  Square  for  one 
in  Craven-street ;  and,  after  having  stayed  in  the 
latter  about  twelve  months,  he  removed  to  Bur 
lington-street,  where  he  continued  to  reside  till  his 
decease.1 

The  MSS.  of  Birch2  furnish  one  more  note  from 
our  author's  pen :  — 

"  Dr.  Akenside  presents  his  compliments  to  Dr. 
Birch,  and  returns  many  thanks  for  his  kind  pre 
sent.  He  has  left  an  unpublish'd  letter  of  Ld. 
Bacon,  which  he  thinks  a  valuable  one,  and  which 
he  had  leave  from  Mr.  Tyrwhitt  to  communicate 
to  Dr.  Birch ;  and  desires,  that,  when  he  has  done 
with  it,  he  would  be  so  good  as  to  send  it  to  Bur 
lington-street. 

"  Nov.  29,  1762." 

1  According  to  the  "  Sheet  Catalogues  of  the  Fellows,  &o. 
of  the  College  of  Physicians  "  (in  the  Brit.  Mus.),  his  residence, 
from  1759  to  1761  inclusive,  was  in  Craven-street;  from  1762 
till  his  decease,  in  Burlington-street. 

2  Letters  to  Birch,  4300,  in  the  Brit.  Mus. 


38  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

To  the  very  learned  Tyrwhitt  (who  has  been 
previously  mentioned  among  the  friends  of  Aken- 
side)  Mr.  Dyson  resigned,  during  this  year,  the 
clerkship  of  the  House  of  Commons.1 

In  December,  1763,  Akenside  read  before  the 
Royal  Society,  a  paper,  which  was  afterwards  pub 
lished  in  the  Philosophical  Transactions  for  the 
same  year,  —  "  An  account  of  a  Blow  upon  the 
Heart,  and  of  its  effects."  2 

His  "  De  Dysenteria  Commentarius  "  3  appeared 
in  1764;  a  production  still  esteemed  by  the  medi 
cal  student  for  the  valuable  information  it  imparts, 

1  "  This  gentleman  [Tyrwhitt]  is  well  known  as  the  editor 
of  Chaucer,  and  [for]  a  part  he  took  in  the  controversy  in 
regard  to  Rowley's  Poems:  "  so  says  Mr.  Bucke  (Life  of  Aken 
side,  176),  who  seems  not  to  know  that  Tyrwhitt  has  done  more 
for  Greek  than  English  literature.     Since  the  time  of  Bentley 
to  the  present  day,  Avhat  classical  scholar  in  this  country,  with 
the  exception  of  Person,  has  displayed  such  acuteness  and 
felicity  of  emendation  as  Tyrwhitt'?     But  his  edition  of  the 
"  Canterbury  Tales  "  exhibits  a  text  which  by  no  means  satis 
fies  the  antiquarian  reader. 

2  Phil.  Trans,  liii.  353:  it  consists  of  two  pages  and  a  half. 
8  De  Dysenteria  Commentarius,  auctore  Marco  Akenside, 

Coll.  Med.  Londin.  Socio.  Eeg.  Societ.  Sodali,  et  Magnse  Bri- 
tannise  Reginas  Medico,  1764,  octavo.  It  consists  of  eighty-one 
pages,  and  is  divided  thus :  — 

Cap*  I.  De  dysenteria  historia. 

II.  De  dysentericorum  curatione. 

III.  De  causis  dysenteriae. 

IV.  De  actione  ipecacoanhae  in  dysentericos. 

There  are  two  English  translations  of  this  work,  by  Ryan 
and  Motteux.  That  of  the  former  is  extremely  inaccurate  (see 
Monthly  Review,  xxxv.  373) ;  that  of  the  latter  is  not  free  from 
faults. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  89 

and  admired  by  the  scholar  for  its  choice  and  ele 
gant  Latinity. 

When  Warburton,  now  dignified  with  the  mitre, 
put  forth  a  new  edition  of  the  first  and  second 
volumes 1  of  the  "  Divine  Legation  of  Moses,"  in 
1766,  he  reprinted^  as  a  "  Postscript  to  the  Dedi 
cation  to  the  Free-thinkers,"  his  severe  strictures 
on  our  poet's  theory  concerning  Ridicule,  &c., 
without  condescending  to  notice  the  arguments 
which  had  been  adduced  in  its  defence.  Irritated 
by  what  he  regarded  as  a  renewal  of  hostilities, 
Akenside  displayed  less  magnanimity  than  might 
have  been  expected  in  such  an  admirer  of  the 
ancient  sages,  and  had  recourse  to  an  ingenious 
method  of  mortifying  his  antagonist.  He  published 

1  These  volumes  are  advertised,  as  published  in  the  London 
Chronicle,  April  3, 1766 ;  which  it  is  necessary  to  mention, 
because  a  writer  in  the  Monthly  Review  seems  to  have  thought 
that  they  appeared  subsequently  to  Akenside's  "  Ode  to  Ed 
wards  :  "  —  "  The  discerning  reader  will  be  at  no  loss  to  account 
for  this  attack  upon  Dr.  Akenside,  when  he  recollects  a  late 
short  publication  of  the  Doctor's,"  xxxv.  227.  Mr.  Bucke  talks 
of  "  the  obnoxious  postscript  he  had  before  appended  to  his 
Preface"  (Life  of  Akenside,  150),  not  knowing  that  Warbur- 
ton's  attack  on  Akenside  was  originally  made  in  the  Preface  to 
"  Remarks  on  Several  Occasional  Reflections,"  &c.  (see  p.  23 
of  this  Memoir).  —  The  Preface,  when  altered  into  a  Post 
script,  opened  thus :  "A  Poet  and  a  Critic  [Lord  Kaimes],  of 
equal  eminence,  have  concurred,  though  they  did  not  start 
together,  to  censure  what  was  occasionally  said  in  this  Dedica 
tion  (as  if  it  had  been  addressed  to  them)  of  the  use  and  abuse 
of  Ridicule.  The  Poet  was  a  follower  of  Lord  Shaftesbury's 
fancies ;  the  Critic,  a  follower  of  his  own :  both  men  of  TASTE, 
and  equally  anxious  for  the  well-doing  of  Ridicule." 
G 


90  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

a  lyrical  satire,  which  he  had  composed  long  before 
this  period,  on  the  appearance  of  the  Bishop's 
edition  of  Pope's  Works,  and  which  probably,  but 
for  this  fresh  provocation,  would  have  never  seen 
the  light,  —  "  An  Ode  to  the  late  Thomas  Ed 
wards,  Esq.,  written  in  the  year  1751;"1  and  a 
note  on  the  fifth  stanza  surprised  the  reader  by 
the  following  piece  of  information :  "  During  Mr. 
Pope's  war  with  Theobald,  Concanen,  and  the  rest 
of  their  tribe,  Mr.  Warburton,  the  present  Lord 
Bishop  of  Gloucester,  did  with  great  zeal  culti 
vate  their  friendship,  having  been  introduced,  for- 

1  In  folio,  price  6d.,  published  May,  1766:  see  the  St. 
James's  Chronicle  for  the  first  of  that  month,  into  which  it  is 
copied,  with  the  following  paragraph  prefixed  to  it:  "While 
Peace  has  spread  her  wing  over  the  greatest  Nations  of  Europe, 
War  has  sounded  his  trump  in  the  regions  of  Parnassus.  We 
have  lately  been  witnesses  to  a  fierce  Conflict  between  a  Right 
Rev.  Prelate,  and  a  Learned  and  Reverend  Professor;  each  of 
whom  have  disputed  about  Job,  without  one  Drachm  or  Scru 
ple  of  his  Patience  between  them.  At  present,  another  son  of 
Apollo,  in  his  two-fold  Capacity  of  God  of  Poetry  and  Physic, 
enters  the  lists,  and  tilts,  we  know  not  why,  with  the  Episcopal 
Militant.  In  a  word,  to  drop  all  Metaphor,  we  are  at  a  Loss  to 
account  why  the  following  Ode,  written  so  long  ago,  is  made 
Public  at  this  particular  Period.  We  doubt  not,  however, 
but  its  appearance  here  will  be  agreeable  to  our  Readers." 
See  also  two  "  Letters  to  the  Printer  of  the  Public  Advertiser  " 
(in  the  Ap.  to  Memoirs  of  T.  Hollis,  722).  In  the  first  of 
them,  dated  May  6,  1766,  the  writer,  accounting  for  the  publi 
cation  of  the  Ode,  says :  "  The  secret,  I  suppose,  is  no  more 
than  this :  the  bishop  has,  just  now,  given  a  new  edition  of  the 
first  volume  of  his  Divine  Legation,  and  has  thought  fit  to 
reprint  the  Censure  he  had  before  made  on  a  certain  note  of 
this  poet,"  &c. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  91 

sooth,  at  the  meetings  of  that  respectable  confede 
racy  ;  a  favour  which  he  afterwards  spoke  of  in 
very  high  terms  of  complacency  and  thankfulness. 
At  the  same  time,  in  his  intercourse  with  them,  he 
treated  Mr.  Pope  in  a  most  contemptuous  manner, 
and  as  a  writer  without  genius.  Of  the  truth  of 
these  assertions,  his  Lordship  can  have  no  doubt, 
if  he  recollects  his  own  correspondence  with  Con- 
canen,  a  part  of  which  is  still  in  being,  and  will 
probably  be  remembered  as  long  as  any  of  this 
prelate's  writings."  A  letter  from  Warburton  to 
Concanen,1  dated  January  2d,  1726,  had  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  Akenside,  who  knew  that,  in 
announcing  the  existence  of  such  a  document,  he 
should  cause  no  slight  vexation  to  his  adversary. 
Though  never  published 2  by  our  poet,  it  has  been 
printed  in  a  note  on  Shakespeare's  "Julius  Cae 
sar,"3  from  a  copy  which  he  communicated  to 
George  Steevens,  and  which  was  thus  endorsed: 
"  The  foregoing  Letter  was  found  about  the  year 
1750  by  Dr.  Gawin  Knight,  first  librarian  to  the 
British  Museum,  in  fitting  up  a  house  which  he 
had  taken  in  Crane  Court,  Fleet-street.  The 
house  had,  for  a  long  time  before,  been  let  in 
lodgings,  and,  in  all  probability,  Concanen  had 

1  Matthew  Concanen,  celebrated  in  "  The  Dunciad,"  ii.  299, 
where  vide  note. 

2  Misled  perhaps  by  Warton  (note  on  Pope's  Works,  v.  164), 
Mr.  Bucke  supposes  that  Akenside  published  the  Letter,  toge 
ther  with  the  Ode.  —  Life  of  Akenside,  157. 

*  By  Malone.  —  "  Supplement  to  Sh^espeare,"  i.  223. 


92  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

lodged  there.  The  original  letter  has  been  many- 
years  in  my  possession,  and  is  here  most  exactly 
copied,  with  its  several  little  peculiarities  in  gram 
mar,  spelling,  and  punctuation.  April  30,  1766, 
M.  A."  In  this  curious  Epistle  (too  long  for 
insertion  here),  the  object  of  Warburton  is  to  point 
out  passages  from  various  writers,  which  Addison 
had  imitated  in  his  "  Cato ; "  and  having  occasion 
to  quote  some  lines  from  "Julius  Caesar,"1  he 
illustrates  them  by  an  absurd  comment,  which  he 
afterwards  introduced,  with  little  variation,  into 
his  edition  of  Shakespeare.  It  decidedly  proves 
his  intimacy  with  Theobald2  and  Concanen,  but 
contains  no  mention  of  Pope,  except  an  observa 
tion  that  he  "  borrows  for  want  of  genius." 

The  Ode  in  question  was  with  propriety  ad 
dressed  to  Thomas  Edwards,  whose  well-known 
"  Canons  of  Criticism "  had  destroyed  the  reputa 
tion  of  Warburton  in  one  department  of  literature. 
This  amiable  and  accomplished  man,  who  died  in 
1757,  had  long  been  intimately  acquainted  with 
Akenside,  and  was,  I  believe,  the  "  Phasdria  "  who 
had  called  forth  our  author's  Odes,  —  "  To  a  Friend 
unsuccessful  in  Love,"8  and  "Affected  Indiffer 
ence."  4  Nor  should  it  be  forgotten,  that,  by  his 

1  "  Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing,"  &c. 

2  See  also  Letters  between  Warburton  and  Theobald,  of  a 
later  date,  in  which  they  call  each  other  "  dearest  friend."  — 
Nichols's  Illust.  of  Lit.  Hist.  ii.  630,  649. 

8  See  p.  46  of  this  Memoir. 

*  Printed  in  Mr.  Dion's  edition  of  his  Poems,  1772. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  93 

«  Sonnets," x  some  of  them  possessing  no  ordinary 
beauty,  Edwards  revived  among  his  countrymen  a 
taste  for  that  species  of  composition,  which  had 
been  neglected  since  the  days  of  Milton. 

In  1765,  Akenside  had  finished  the  second  book 
of  the  remodelled  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination  ; " 
and,  in  September  of  the  following  year,  Mr. 
Daniel  Wray  writes  thus  to  one  of  his  correspond 
ents  : 2 "  I  was  at  Mount  Ararat  sooner  than  usual, 
to  attend  Lord  and  Lady  Dacre,  accompanied  by 
Akenside,  who  passed  the  evening  there,  and  com 
municated  the  second  and  part  of  a  third  book 
in  his  great  work.  In  the  former,  and  in  the  same 
philosophical  way,  he  is  eloquent  on  the  topics  of 
truth  and  virtue,  vice  and  the  passions.  In  the 
latter,  Solon  is  introduced  giving  a  Fable  on 
the  Origin  of  Evil.  It  is  introduced  by  an  Epi 
sode  from  Herodotus  of  Argarista's  marriage,  the 
daughter  of  Clisthenes,  which  is  delightfully  poeti 
cal."  Mr.  Wray,  a  friend  both  of  Akenside  and 
Edwards,  was  a  contributor  to  the  well-known 
work,  "  The  Athenian  Letters."  He  was  Fellow 
of  the  Royal  Society  and  of  the  Society  of  Anti- 

1  See  forty-five  Sonnets  appended  to  "  The  Canons  of  Cri 
ticism,"  edit.  1765,  several  of  which  had  previously  appeared 
hi  Dodsley's  Coll.  of  Poems,  &c. :  the  five  best  will  be  found  La 
my  "  Specimens  of  English  Sonnets,"  1833. 

2  Nichols's  Illust.  of  Lit.   Hist.  i.   104.  —  Mount  Ararat 
(which  Mr.  Bucke  calls  "  the  seat  of  Lord  and  Lady  Dacre," 
—  Life  of  Akenside,  195)  was  the  name  of  Mr.  Wray's  house 
at  Richmond. 


94  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE. 

quaries ;  deputy  Teller  of  the  Exchequer ;  and 
one  of  the  Trustees  of  the  British  Musuem,  on  its 
first  establishment. 

From  the  annals  of  the  College  of  Physicians, 
we  learn,  that,  in  1766, "  Dr.  Akenside  was  thanked 
by  the  College  for  his  trouble  in  preparing  Har 
vey's  "Works  for  the  press,  and  for  prefixing  a 
Preface,  which  was  printed  with  them,  together 
with  the  Life  of  Harvey,  by  Dr.  Lawrence." l 

On  the  6th  of  June,  1767,  he  read  before  the 
College  two  papers,  —  "  Observations  on  Can 
cers,"  and  "  Of  the  Use  of  Ipecacoanha  in  Asth 
mas  ; "  and,  on  the  6th  of  July,  a  third,  —  "A 
Method  of  treating  White  Swellings  of  the  Joints." 
These  essays  were  published,  next  year,  in  the 
first  volume  of  the  Medical  Transactions.2 

In  1767  appeared  a  small  volume,  entitled 
"  Lexiphanes,  a  Dialogue,  imitated  from  Lucian, 
and  suited  to  the  present  times,"  —  a  piece  of  ill- 
natured  drollery,  which,  though  levelled  chiefly  at 
the  prose  of  Johnson,  contains  also  an  attack  on 
the  poetry  of  Akenside.  It  was  written  by  an 
obscure  Scotchman,  Archibald  Campbell,8  who 

1  On  the  information  of  Dr.  Francis  Hawkins,  Registrar  to 
the  College  of  Physicians. 

2  See  the  first  vol.  of  the  Medical  Transactions,  third  edition, 
1785.    The  first  of  Akenside's  essays  consists  of  twenty-nine 
pages,  the  second  of  ten  and  a  half,  the  third  of  eight. 

8  He  was  a  purser  in  the  navy,  and,  "  as  well  for  the  ma 
lignancy  of  his  heart  as  his  terrific  countenance,  was  called 
horrible  Campbell."  —  Hawkins's  Life  of  Johnson,  347,  edit. 


HFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  95 

hoped  that  its  publication  would  involve  him  in  a 
controversy  with  "the  two  Lexiphaneses,"  from 
which  he  would  acquire  at  least  notoriety ;  but  he 
was  disappointed,  for  neither  Johnson  nor  Aken- 
side  deigned  to  reply. 

The  following  jeu  d'esprit 1  is  from  the  pen  of 
Mr.  Daniel  Wray,  whose  intimacy  with  Akenside 
has  just  been  noticed :  — 

"The  Arbitrator  was  out  of  town,  when  the 
applications  from  Ld.  Dacre  and  Dr.  Akenside 
were  left  at  his  house ;  and,  when  he  found  them, 
he  was  fully  employed  in  dispatching  some  busi 
ness,  in  order  to  return  to  Richmond.  Ld.  Dacre 
asked  for  the  Decision  only  at  the  leisure  of  the 
Court ;  and  it  has  been  thought  proper  and  deco 
rous  to  take  some  time  for  judgment. 

"Ld.  D.  has  offered  no  arguments,  nor  even 
stated  the  point  in  dispute.  Dr.  A.  has  fairly 
stated  it  to  be  whether  Buchanan  praised  Q.  Mary 
as  a  woman  of  virtue. 

"  In  the  second  passage  of  the  Pompce,  virtus 
has  nothing  that  confines  it  to  moral  virtue,  but  it 

1787.  In  a  note  on  "  Lexiphanes,"  Campbell  declares  that 
Akenside's  "  words,  and  especially  his  phrases,  are  generally 
bo  execrable,  and  his  meaning,  where  any  can  be  picked  out, 
Always  so  trifling ;  in  short,  he  has  imbibed  so  much  of  Plato's 
nonsense,"  &c.  &c.  p.  76:  second  edition,  1767.  Campbell 
published  another  little  volume,  —  "  A  Sale  of  Authors." 

1  Now  first  published,  from  the  original  in  the  possession  of 
J.  Dyson,  Esq. 


96  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

may  include  it;  and  there  occurs  a  line  in  the 
Epithalamium, 

Et  genus  et  virtus  et  forma, 

where  that  idea  may  also  be  included  in  virtus. 
This  verse  is  not  indeed  in  Ld.  D.'s  plea,  and  so 
perhaps  not  strictly  admissible. 

"  Upon  the  whole,  the  classical  virtus  is  not 
generally  virtue  in  English ;  but  Buchanan,  how 
ever  classical  he  was,  might  be  willing  to  leave  his 
idea  in  these  compliments  dim  and  confused ;  or 
perhaps  might  put  these  brave  words  together 
without  much  consideration  or  precision,  not  ex 
pecting  they  would  be  so  nicely  canvassed  two 
centuries  after. 

"  From  such  imperfect  documents,  therefore, 
the  court  will  not  determine  so  important  a  cause, 
so  warmly  agitated,  and  of  such  expectation ;  but 
hereby  declares  the  wager  to  be  drawn  ;  each  party 
to  sit  down  with  the  trouble  they  have  had  in 
debating  and  searching  for  materials  and  prece 
dents;  and  that  the  respective  characters  of  the 
Queen  and  the  writer  remain  in  statu  quo,  unaf 
fected  by  any  arguments  drawn  from  these  verses, 
being  matters  of  another  jurisdiction. 

"  D.  W.  Arbitrator. 
"  M.  ARARAT,  26  May,  1770. 

"  Dr.  A.  will  transmit  the  above  sentence  te 
Ld.  D. 

"  To  Dr.  AKENSIDE, 
In  Burlington-street,  London." 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  97 

The  unfinished  third  book  of  the  remodelled 
u  Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  and  the  fragment  of 
the  fourth  book,  bear  the  date  of  this  year ;  and 
Akenside  was  looking  forward  to  the  period  when 
the  publication  of  the  work  was  to  increase  his 
already  established  fame  as  a  poet.  His  practice 
as  a  physician1  was  now  considerable,  and  pro 
mised  to  be  more  extensive.  But  a  putrid  fever, 
with  which  he  was  suddenly  seized,  put  an  end  to 
his  existence,  after  a  short  illness,  on  the  23d 
June,  1770,  in  the  forty-ninth  year  of  his  age. 
He  died  at  his  residence  in  Burlington-street,2  and 
was  buried 8  in  St.  James's  Church. 

Some  "  Observations  on  the  Putrid  Erysipelas, 
made  at  St.  Thomas's  Hospital,"  which  he  had 
read4  before  the  College  of  Physicians,  and  in 
tended  for  the*  second  volume  of  the  Medical 
Transactions,  were  among  his  papers  at  the  time 
of  his  decease,  but  were  never  printed. 

Mr.  Dyson-,  who  had  become  possessor  of  the 
books,  prints,  MSS.,  and  other  effects  of  Akenside, 
gave  to  the  world  an  edition  of  his  Poems  in 

1  See  what  has  been  said  on  this  subject,  pp.  53,  54,  58. 

2  Mr.  Bucke  erroneously  states  that  he  died  in  Bloomsbury 
Square  (Life  of  Akenside,  216):  but  see  p.  87  of  this  Memoir; 
also  the  General  Evening  Post,  from  Saturday,  June  23d,  to 
Tuesday,  June  26th,  1770,  the  Middlesex  Journal,  &c. 

8  On  the  28th  June. 

4  About  the  same  period  that  he  read  the  Croonian  Lec 
tures,  says  Mr.  Bucke,  without  any  authority.  Life  ofAken- 
tide,  197.  — See  page  65  of  this  Memoir. 


98  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

1772.1  The  contents  of  this  elegant  volume  are  — 
1.  "  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  as  originally 
published.  2.  As  much  of  that  Poem,  on  an 
enlarged  plan,  as  the  author  had  prepared  for  the 
press.  "  What  reason  there  may  be,"  says  the 
Advertisement,  "  to  regret  that  he  did  not  live  to 
execute  the  whole  of  it,  will  best  appear  from  the 
perusal  of  the  plan  itself,  as  stated  in  the  General 
Argument,  and  of  the  Parts  which  he  had  exe 
cuted,  and  which  are  here  published.  For  the 
Person  to  whom  he  entrusted  the  Disposal  of  his 
Papers  would  have  thought  himself  wanting,  as 
well  to  the  service  of  the  Public  as  to  the  Fame 
of  his  Friend,  if  he  had  not  produced  as  much  of 
the  work  as  appeared  to  have  been  prepared  for 
publication.  In  this  light  he  considered  the  intire 
first  and  second  Books,  of  which  a* few  Copies  had 
been  printed  for  the  use  only  of  the  Author  and 
certain  Friends ;  also  a  very  considerable  part  of 
the  third  Book,  which  had  been  transcribed  in 
order  to  its  being  printed  in  the  same  manner: 
and  to  these  is  added  the  Introduction  to  a 
subsequent  Book,  which  in  the  Manuscript  is  called 
the  Fourth,  and  which  appears  to  have  been  com 
posed  at  the  time  when  the  Author  intended  to 
comprize  the  whole  in  Four  Books ;  but  which,  as 
he  had  afterwards  determined  to  distribute  the 
Poem  into  more  Books,  might  perhaps  more  pro- 

1  Both  in  4to  and  8vo. 


LIFi:    OP    AKENSIDE.  99 

perly  be  called  the  Last  Book." 1  3.  "  Odes  " 2  — 
of  which  nineteen  are  for  the  first  time  printed : 
the  rest  (most  of  them  now  greatly  altered)  had 
been  previously  published.  4.  The  "  Hymn  to  the 

l  The  late  Mr.  Pinkerton,  in  a  volume  entitled  "  Letters  of 
Literature,  by  Kobert  Heron,"  1785,  printed,  for  the  first  tune, 
some  alterations  made  by  Akenside  in  the  Pleasures  of  Ima 
gination.  "  They  were  inserted,"  he  tells  us,  "in  the  margin 
of  the  Doctor's  copy,  which  afterwards  passed  into  the  hands 
of  a  gentleman,  from  a  friend  of  whom,  and  of  my  own,  a  very 
ingenious  young  Templar,  I  received  them.  At  what  time 
they  were  written  I  cannot  pretend  to  say,  much  less  to  reveal 
the  author's  reasons  for  not  giving  an  edition  according  to 
them.  Most  of  them  are  evidently  much  for  the  better;  one  or 
two,  I  am  afraid,  for  the  worse.  You  will  observe  that  a  few 
of  them  have  been  adopted  by  the  author  in  his  proposed  altera 
tion  of  the  Poem ;  as  appears  from  the  two  books,  and  part  of 
the  third,  of  that  alteration,  published  by  Mr.  Dyson  in  his 
edition  of  Akenside's  Poems,  1772,  4to;  but  far  the  greater  part 
is  unpublished,  and  that  the  most  valuable,  as  being  evidently 
written  ere  the  author  had  taken  up  the  strange  idea,  that 
poetry  was  only  perfect  oratory.  So  that  I  will  venture  to 
say,  that  an  edition  of  the  '  Pleasures  of  Imagination,'  adopting 
most  of  these  corrections,  would  be  the  most  perfect  ever  yet 
known." — Letter  iv.  p.  21.  Pinkerton's  taste  was  not  "the 
most  perfect  ever  known ; "  neither,  I  think,  is  that  of  Mr. 
Bucke,  who  seems  to  have  meditated  an  edition  of  the  kind, 
and  who  (according  to  his  custom  of  giving  garbled  extracts) 
quotes  the  above  passage  from  Pinkerton,  omftting  the  ob 
servation  that  "  one  or  two  of  the  corrections  are  for  the 
worse."  —Life  of  Akenside,  286. 

The  "Pleasures  of  Imagination"  has  been  translated  into 
French  prose  by  Baron  d'Holbach,  1759,  and  into  Italian  verse 
by  Abbate  Angelo  Mazxa,  1764. 

2  Those  not  already  mentioned  in  this  Memoir  are  "  On  the 
Use  of  Poetry,"  "  To  the  Cuckoo,"  "  On  the  Love  of  Praise," 
"  At  Study,"  "  The  Complaint,"  and  "  On  Domestic  Manners." 


100  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

Naiads,"  corrected,  with  the  addition  of  some  notes. 
5.  "  Inscriptions ; "  of  which  the  three  last l  had  not 
before  appeared.  The  "  Epistle  to  Curio,"  in  its 
original  state,  and  several  smaller  pieces,2  which 
the  author  had  produced  during  his  early  years, 
are  not  reprinted  in  the  volume  just  described. 
The  only  biographical  notice  of  Akenside,  which 
accompanies  it,  is  comprised  in  a  paragraph  of  the 
Advertisement.  "  The  frigidity  of  this  account," 
observed  the  Monthly  Reviewer,  "  must  be  dis 
gustful  to  every  reader,  who  is  endued  with  the 
least  portion  of  sensibility ;  "  8  a  censure  which  has 
been  frequently  repeated.  But  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  modesty  alone  prevented  Mr.  Dyson 
from  undertaking  the  office  of  Akenside's  biogra 
pher  ;  for  how  could  he  have  discharged  it  faith 
fully,  without  being,  in  some  degree,  the  herald  of 
his  own  munificence  ?  He  was  exemplary  in  all 
the  relations  of  private  life ;  he  rose  to  consider 
able  political  eminence;  and,  as  the  friend  and 
patron  of  the  poet,  he  has  left  a  name  which 


1  Namely,  The  Wood  Nymph,  "  Ye  powers  unseen,"  &c., 
and  "  Me,  though  in  life's  sequester' d  vale,"  &c.  —  Two  Latin 
Inscriptions  of  the  Poet's  "  copying,"  which  were  in  the  pos 
session  of  Mr.  Meyrick,  are  printed  by  Mr.  Bucke  (Life  of 
Akenside,  81),  who  calls  them  "very  beautiful."     They  are 
defective  in  sense,  grammar,  and  metre ! 

2  Already  enumerated  in  this  Memoir,  with  the  exception 
of  the  Song,  which  closes  the  present  volume,  and  which  is 
attributed  to  Akenside  by  Ritson,  —  English  Songs,  i.  207. 

«  Monthly  Review  for  Dec.  1772,  — xlvii.  436. 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  101 

can   never    cease    to   be    remembered  with    re 
spect.1 

J  Akenside  bad  a  pale  and  rather  sickly  com 
plexion,  but  manly  and  expressive  features.  The 
formalty  of  his  deportment,  the  precise  elegance 
of  his  dress,  his  ample  wig  in  stiff  curl,  his  long 
sword,  his  hobbling  gait,  and  his  artificial  heel, 
rendered  his  appearance  far  from  prepossessing, 
and  somewhat  akin  to  the  ludicrous. 

His  irritability  of  temper  at  times  betrayed 
him  into  conduct,  from  which  a  very  unfavourable 
and  unjust  idea  of  his  character  was  conceived  by 

y^  strangers.2  An  early  disappointment  in  love  is 
said  to  have  occasioned  this  infirmity.  In  a  pas 
sage  of  "  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  where 
he  touches  on  the  fate  of  Parthenia,3  he  has  been 
supposed  to  allude  to  a  young  lady,  who  died 
when  about  to  become  his  wife ;  and  in  several 
Odes 4  he  mentions,  as  the  object  of  his  passion, 
Olympia,  whom,  it  appears,  he  also  lost  by  death. 
"But  he  celebrates  other  ladies,  and  speaks  of 
them  even  with  affection  ;  Amoret 5  and  Melissa."  6 

*  Mr.  Dyson  died  Sept.  16,  1776.    "  He  was  at  that  time 
M.  P.  for  Horsham,  a  member  of  the  Privy  Council,  and  Cof 
ferer  to  His  Majesty's  Household."  —  Nichols's  III.  of  lAt.  Hist. 
viii.  555. 

2  See  the  anecdotes  at  p.  69  of  this  Memoir. 
«  B.  ii.  193  (Original  Poem). 

*  To  the  Muse,  On  Love,  To  Sir  Francis  Drake,  On  Lyric 
Poetry,  and  To  the  Evening  Star. 

6  Ode  (without  a  title)  X.  B.  ii. 

ft  Pleas,  of  Iniag.  (Sec.  Poem)  i.  367. 


102  LIFE    OF   AKENSIDB. 

Such  is  the  remark  of  Mr.  Bucke, 1  who  might 
have  added  the  names  of  Lucinda,2  Eudora,8 
Dione,4  and  Cordelia,5  and  so  made  up  a  list  of 
mistresses  only  exceeded  by  "  The  Chronicle  "  of 
Cowley !  Though  we  cannot  read  in  Akenside's 
poetry  the  true  history  of  his  loves,  we  learn  from 
it  that  there  were  moments  when  he  felt  the 
dreary  solitude  of  celibacy,  and  sighed  for  domestic 
comforts :  — 

"  Though  the  day  have  smoothly  gone, 
Or  to  letter'd  leisure  known, 
Or  in  social  duty  spent, 
Yet  at  eve  ray  lonely  breast 
Seeks  in  vain  for  perfect  rest, 
Languishes  for  true  content."  6 

In  general  society  his  manners  were  not  agree 
able  :  he  seemed  to  want  gaiety  of  heart,  and  was 
apt  to  be  dictatorial  in  conversation.  But,  when 
surrounded  only  by  his  intimate  friends,  he  would 
instruct  and  delight  them  by  the  eloquence  of  his 
reasoning,  the  felicity  of  his  allusions,  and  the  va 
riety  of  his  knowledge.  He  had  no  wit  himself, 
and  took  ill  the  jests  of  others.  He  was  gifted 

1  Life  of  Akenside,  127.    In  the  next  page,  Mr.  Bucke  ob 
serves  that  "  Akenside's  respect  for  women  peeps  out  every 
where"! 

2  Ode  on  the  Winter  Solstice,  ed.  1745. 
8  Id.  ibid,  as  the  text  now  stands. 

4  Ode  on  Lyric  Poetry,  eds.  1745  and  1760;  afterwards 
altered  to  "  Olympia." 

6  S  ong,  —  at  the  end  of  this  volume, 
e  Ode,  At  Study. 


LIFE    OP   AKENSIDE.  103 

with  a  memory  of  extraordinary  power,  and  per 
fect  readiness  in  the  application  of  its  stores. 
With  the  exception  of  Ben  Jonson,  Milton,  and 
Gray,  it  would  be  difficult  to  name  an  English 
poet,  whose  scholarship  was  of  a  higher  order 
than  Akenside's. 

In  his  life-long  friendship  with  Mr.  Dyson,  the 
warmth  and  constancy  of  his  affections  are  strik 
ingly  displayed.  He  had  a  noble  independence 
of  spirit;  and,  notwithstanding  his  alleged  politi 
cal  inconsistency,  it  should  seem  that  the  love  of 
liberty,  for  which  he  was  distinguished  during  the 
earlier  part  of  his  career,  was  but  little  impaired 
by  the  atmosphere  of  a  court.  His  respect  for 
Christianity  he  has  testified  more  than  once ; l  but 
his  religious  creed,  as  indicated  in  his  poetry, 
appears  to  have  been  nearly  that  of  "  his  Master," 
Shaftesbury,  pure  theism.  "  <  People  would  as 
sert/  he  was  accustomed  to  say,  *  that  I  imitated 
Newton,  or  I  should  never  allude  to  the  Deity,  or 
hear  him  alluded  to  by  others,  but  I  should  make 
an  inclination  of  my  body.'  And  one  day,  being 
in  company  with  Mr.  Meyrick's  father  at  a  coffee 
house,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Charing-cross, 

i  See  his  Odes  "  To  the  Author  of  Memoirs  of  the  House  of 
Brandenburgh,"  and  "To  the  Bishop  of  Winchester."  His 
townsman,  Sir  Gray  Cooper,  had  a  paraphrase  of  the  Bene- 
dicite,  which  he  "  had  good  reasons  for  believing  was  written 
by  Akenside;"  and  he  had  heard  that  a  Christmas  Carol, 
which  used  to  be  sung  in  the*  streets  of  Newcastle,  was  also 
composed  by  our  author.  —  See  Buckets  Life  of  Akenside.  183. 


104  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

having  listened,  for  some  time,  with  impatience  to 
the  oratory  of  a  Mr.  Warnefield,  who  was  making 
some  severe  remarks  not  only  on  Warburton's 
Divine  Legation  of  Moses,  but  on  the  Bible  itself, 
he,  at  length,  interrupted  him.  '  I  tell  you  what, 
sir/  said  he :  '  Warburton  is  no  friend  of  mine : 
but  I  detest  hearing  a  man  of  learning  abused. 
As  to  the  Bible  —  believe  or  not,  just  as  you 
please ;  but  let  it  contain  as  many  absurdities,  un 
truths,  and  unsound  doctrines,  as  you  say  it  does, 
there  is  one  passage,  at  least,  that  I  am  sure  you, 
with  all  your  ingenuity  and  with  all  the  eloquence 
you  possess,  have  not  the  power  to  surpass.  It  is 
where  the  prophet  says,  —  *  The  children  of  men 
are  much  wiser  than  the  children  of  light.' "  *  A 
hasty  assertion  of  Walker,  that  "  the  immortality 
of  the  soul  is  scarcely  once  hinted  at  throughout 
the  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  is  cited  by  John 
son,2  who  yet  allows,  as  an  excuse  for  this  "  great 
defect,"  that  Akenside  "  has  omitted  what  was  not 
properly  in  his  plan."  But,  if  either  of  them  had 
carefully  perused  the  work,  could  they  have  over 
looked,  among  other  passages  of  similar  tendency,8 
the  following  lines  ?  — 

1  Bucke's  Life  of  Akenside,  180. 

2  Life  of  Akenside.    In  1772,  talking  of  "  The  Pleasures  of 
Imagination,"  Johnson  said  to  Boswell,  "  Sir,  I  could  not  read 
it  through."  —  Life  of  Johnson,  ii.  167,  ed.  1816. 

»  See  the  original  Poem,  B.  i.  163,  183,  212,  436;  B.  ii.  359; 
and  the  remodelled  Poem,  B.  ii.  145.  Mr.  Bucke  was  assured 
by  "an  octogenarian  of  great  learning,"  that  he  had  every 


LIFE    OF   AKENSIDE.  105 

"  Led  by  that  hope  sublime,  whose  cloudless  eye, 
Through  the  fail-  toils  and  ornaments  of  earth, 
Discerns  the  nobler  life  reserved  for  heaven."  $c. 

I.  489  (Sec.  Poem). 

On  a  series  of  papers  by  Addison,  in  "  The 
Spectator," l  Akenside  founded  his  great  didactic 
poem.  To  Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson 2  also,  he  is 

reason  to  think  that  the  following  passage  formed  part  of  a 
letter  from  Akenside  to  Dr.  Grainger:  "  Your  friend  seems  to 
doubt  whether  he  has  a  soul  or  not ;  and  yet  surely  he  will 
not  attempt  to  place  himself  on  a  level  with  Kepler;  and  so  far 
•was  he  from  doubting  that  he  had  a  soul,  he  gives  one  even  to 
the  earth  itself."  "In  respect  to  its  nature,"  said  he  on  an 
other  occasion,  "  it  is  past  my  judgment,  whether  material  or 
immaterial.  Perhaps  it  may  partake  of  both  natures.  Ter- 
tullian  not  only  makes  the  soul  material,  but  he  gives  a  corporal 
body  even  to  God  himself;  and  Job  says, '  In  my  flesh  I  shall  see 
God.'  The  Christian  doctrine  also  implies  it,  since  it  speaks 
of  the  resurrection  of  the  body.  Certainly,  every  thing  that 
exists  must  have  shape ;  and  if  shape,  form ;  and  if  form,  sub 
stance.  But  there  may  be  many  substances,  and  no  doubt  there 
are,  beyond  what  we  know  of  at  present.  Simplicius  says 
there  is  in  nature  an  active  principle  and  a  passive  one:  the 
soul  may  partake  of  the  same  differences ;  the  former  principle 
associating  with  light,  the  latter  with  colour.  Maximus  Tyrius 
makes  even  a  bolder  assertion ;  for  he  says,  that  God's  oracles 
and  men's  understandings  are  of  near  alliance.  Hence  the 
assertion  of  Proclus,  that  all  our  souls  are  the  children  of  God. 
But  the  fact  is,  we  know  little  of  these  things.  It  is  a  great 
satisfaction,  however,  that  we  live  in  a  world  presenting  every 
moment  something  to  exercise  our  faculties;  and  that  the 
grand  Mover  of  the  whole  will,  no  doubt,  make  ample  allow 
ances  for  human  infirmity."  — Life  of  Akenside,  181. 

1  No.  411,  et  seq. 

2  Shaftesbury's  Characteristics.  —  Hutcheson's  Inquiry  into 
the  Original  of  our  Ideas  of  Beauty  and  Virtue. 

*  H 


106  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

considerably  indebted ;  and  from  the  writers  of 
Greece  and  Rome  he  has  derived  a  few  of  his 
ideas,  and  perhaps  a  portion  of  his  inspiration,  — - 
for  never  had  the  genius  and  wisdom  of  antiquity 
a  more  ardent  admirer,  or  a  more  unwearied 
student.  In  this  celebrated  work,  if  little  in 
vention  is  exhibited,  the  taste  and  skill  with  which 
the  author  has  selected  and  combined  his  materials 
are  everywhere  conspicuous ;  if  the  thoughts  are 
not  always  stamped  with  originality,  they  have  a 
general  loftiness  and  an  occasional  sublimity;  if 
some  passages  are  not  lighted  up  with  poetic  fire, 
they  glow  with  rhetorical  beauty ;  while  ingenious 
illustration  and  brilliant  imagery  enliven  and  adorn 
the  whole.  Akenside  has  chosen  no  unimportant 
theme,  and  he  treats  it  with  an  earnestness  and 
an  enthusiasm  which  at  once  command  attention. 
He  pours  forth  a  moral  and  philosophic  strain, 
which  elevates  the  mind ;  but  he  dwells  so  little 
on  actual  existences  and  on  human  interests,  that 
it  rarely  moves  the  heart.  His  diction  is  rich  and 
curious ;  sometimes,  however,  so  redundant,  as 
slightly  to  obscure  the  meaning,  and  sometimes  so 
remote  from  common  phraseology,  as  to  impart  an 
air  of  stiffness  and  turgidity  to  the  lines.  His 
versification  is  sweet  and  flowing;  and,  perhaps, 
those  only  who  are  familiar  with  the  cadences  of 
Milton  will  complain  of  its  monotony. 

To  "  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  as  pub 
lished   in    1744,  the    preceding  observations  are 


LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE.  107 

intended  to  apply,  The  second  Poem,  which  in 
the  estimation  of  some  critics l  is  an  improvement 
on  the  first,  appears  to  me  comparatively  flat  and 
prosaic,  notwithstanding  its  superior  correctness. 
Had  Akenside  devoted  the  leisure  of  his  later 
years  to  an  entirely,  new  work,  it  would  have 
formed  a  more  acceptable  bequest  to  posterity 
than  the  remoulded  production  of  his  youth. 

That  he  possessed  powers  for  the  graver  kind  of 
satire,  is  evinced  by  his  "  Epistle  to  Curio, '  —  a 
composition  remarkable  for  keen  but  not  coarse 
invective,  for  dignity  of  reproof,  and  intensity  of 
scorn. 

Throughout  the  range  of  English  literature, 
there  is  nothing  more  deeply  imbued  with  the  spir 
it  of  the  ancient  world  than  our  author's  "  Hymn 
to  the  Naiads."  In  its  solemnity,  its  pomp  of 
expression,  and  its  mythologic  lore,  he  has  shown 
himself  a  most  successful  imitator  of  Callimachus ; 
yet  is  it  far  from  being  the  mere  echo  of  a  Grecian 
hymn.2  Nor  are  his  terse  and  energetic  "  Inscrip 
tions  "  less  worthy  of  praise. 

1  Among  whom  was  Hazlitt,  —  Lectures  on  English  Poets, 
236. 

2  In  1594,  Chapman,  the  fine  old  dramatist,  and  translator 
of  Homer,  published  a  tract,  entitled  2  Kta  vv/crdf,  "  The  Sha 
dow  of  Night,"  which  consists  of  two  Hymns,  "  To  Night," 
and  "  To  Cynthia,"  —  very  learned  and  mystical  effusions, 
with  occasional  gleams  of  poetry.    To  attempt  some  Hymns  in 
the  manner  of  Callimachus  was  among  the  literary  projects  of 
Milton:  see  "  The  Keason  of  Church  Government  urged  against 
Prelaty,"  1641,  p.  39. 


108  LIFE    OF    AKENSIDE. 

In  some  of  Akenside's  Odes,  —  especially  those 
"  On  the  Winter  Solstice  "  and  on  "  Lyric  Poetry," 
—  there  are  stanzas  of  pleasing  picturesqueness ; 
but,  in  the  greater  number,  he  appeals  chiefly  to 
the  understanding  of  the  reader,1  and  is  not  soli 
citous  to  heighten  the  effect  of  the  sentiments  by 
wreathing  them  with  the  flowers  of  fancy.  In 
those  "  To  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon  "  and  "  To  the 
Country  Gentlemen  of  England,"  he  rises  to  a 
gnomic  grandeur,  which  has  seldom  been  surpassed. 
His  Odes,  on  the  whole,  are  deficient  in  impetu- 
ousness,  warmth  of  colouring,  tenderness,  and  me 
lody. 

1  Mason  had  been  told  that  Akenside  "  entertained,  some 
years  before  his  death,  a  notion  that  poetry  was  only  true  elo 
quence  in  metre.11  — Memoirs  of  Gray,  261,  edit.  1775. 


APPENDIX 

TO  THE  LIFE  OF  AKENSIDE. 


P.  61,  note  3.  "  Would  to  Heaven,"  said  he  [i.  e.  the  "  Doo 
tor"],  "my  Muse  were  blessed  with  an  occasion  to  emulate 
that  glorious  testimony  on  the  trophy  in  Cyprus,  erected  by  Ci- 
mon,  for  two  great  victories  gained  on  the  same  day  over  the 
Persians  by  sea  and  land;  in  which  it  is  very  remarkable,  that 
the  greatness  of  the  occasion  has  raised  the  manner  q£  expression 
above  the  usual  simplicity  and  modesty  of  all  other  ancient  inscrip 
tions."  —  Peregrine  P'ickle,  ii.  248,  edit.  1751.  What  I  have 
marked  in  Italics  is  from  Akenside's  note  on  the  "  Ode  to  the 
Earl  of  Huntingdon:  "  which  see. 

P.  83.  "  Thee,  too  facetious  Momion,"  &c.  —  The  Archceo- 
logia  ^Eliana,  vol.  ii.  part.  ii.  Newcastle,  1830,  containing  "  An 
Account  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Richard  Dawes,"  has  i 


Jawes,' 

fallen  into  my  hands.  I  learn  from  it,  that  Akenside  had  been 
a  pupil  of  Dawes,  when  that  great  scholar  was  head-master 
of  the  Grammar  School  of  Newcastle,  to  which  office  he  was 
appointed  in  1738 ;  and  that,  in  the  character  of  Momion,  the 
poet  was  supposed  to  have  described  his  old  master.  In  a 
strange  pamphlet  (so  scarce  that  I  have  never  been  able  to  pro 
cure  a  sight  of  it)  called  "  Extracts  from  a  MS.  Pamphlet, 
entitled  fee  Tittle  Tattle  Mongers,"  which  Dawes  published 
at  Newcastle  in  1747,  are  the  following  observations  on  the 
passage  of  the  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  where  Momion  is 
mentioned :  —  "A  certain  illustrious  collection  of  genii  have 
thought  proper  to  apply  this  character  persQnally.  The  part 
of  the  brotherhood  they  take  to  themselves,  and  are  so  kind  as 
to  confer  that  of  Momion  upon  Philhomerus  [Dawesj.  The 
poet,  indeed,  has  absolutely  denied  that  the  character  was 
intended  personally,  and  has  professed  himself  astonished  at 
the  application.  But  his  pleading  non-intention  with  respect 
to  another  gentleman,  after  having  declared  himself  astonished 


110  APPENDIX. 

at  what  was  his  doctrine,  makes  me  entertain  but  a  moderate 
opinion  of  his  veracity.    And  in  this  opinion  I  am  confirmed 
by  the  conduct  of  his  friends,  the  genii,  who,  notwithstanding 
his  remonstrance,  persist  in  the  application.    Nav,  I  am  apt 
to  believe,  that  they,  being  acquainted  with  his  blushing  diffi 
dence,  instigated,  if  not  hired,  him  to  undertake  so  notable  a 
grank."     The  words  "  blushing  diffidence  "  allude  to  a  passage 
i  the  "  Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  B.  iii.  205,  first  edition:  — 

"  Forgive  my  song, 
That  for  the  blushing  diffidence  of  youth,"  &c. 

P.  84.  —  In  an  unpublished  letter  from  J.  Edwards  to  Daniel 
Wray,  dated  Turrick,  April  28,  1756,  is  the  following  passage : 
"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  Dr.  Akenside  has  recovered  Over 
again ;  but  has  Dyer  recovered  his  poetical  vein  V  Alas !  I  fear 
we  shall  have  no  Fleece  at  last.  I  hope  the  Doctor  will  publish 
the  Ode  you  mention  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester.  [See  Life 
of  Akenside,  p.  63.]  I  could  have  wished  he  had  not  recalled 
the  liberty  he  once  gave  me  to  print  that  he  honored  me  with." 
[See  Life  of  Akenside,  p.  90.] 

P.  101.  —  That  "  Akenside,  when  he  walked  in  the  streets, 
looked  for  all  the  world  like  one  of  his  own  Alexandrines  set 
upright,"  was  a  saying  of  Henderson  the  actor,  for  which  I  am 
indebted  to  a  true  poet  of  our  own  day,  Mr.  Rogers,  who  heard 
it  repeated  many  years  ago. 


POEMS. 


ADVERTISEMENT.1 


THIS  volume  contains  a  complete  collection  of  the  Poems  of  the 
late  Dr.  Akenside,  either  reprinted  from  the  original  editions, 
or  faithfully  published  from  copies  which  had  been  prepared 
by  himself  for  publication. 

That  the  principal  Poem  should  appear  in  so  disadvantageous 
a  state  may  require  some  explanation.  The  first  publication 
of  it  was  at  a  very  early  part  of  the  author's  life.  That  it 
wanted  revision  and  correction,  he  was  sufficiently  sensible; 
but  so  quick  was  the  demand  for  several  successive  republica- 
tions,  that,  in  any  of  the  intervals,  to  have  completed  the  whole 
of  his  corrections,  was  utterly  impossible;  and  yet  to  have  gone 
on  from  time  to  time  making  farther  improvements  in  every 
new  edition  would  (he  thought)  have  had  the  appearance  at 
least  of  abusing  the  favour  of  the  public.  He  chose,  therefore, 
to  continue  for  some  time  reprinting  it  without  alteration,  and 
to  forbear  publishing  any  corrections  or  improvements  until  he 
should  be  able  at  once  to  give  them  to  the  public  complete. 
And,  with  this  view,  he  went  on  for  several  years  to  review 
and  correct  the  poem  at  his  leisure ;  till  at  length  he  found  the 
task  grow  so  much  upon  his  hands,  that,  despairing  of  ever 
being  able  to  execute  it  sufficiently  to  his  own  satisfaction,  he 
abandoned  the  purpose  of  correcting,  and  resolved  to  write  the 
poem  over  anew,  upon  a  somewhat  different  and  an  enlarged 
plan.  And,  in  the  execution  of  this  design,  he  had  made  a  con 
siderable  progress.  What  reason  there  may  be  to  regret  that 
he  did  not  live  to  execute  the  whole  of  it  will  best  appear  from 
the  perusal  of  the  plan  itself,  as  stated  in  the  General  Argu 
ment,  and  of  the  parts  which  he  had  executed,  and  which  are 
here  published.  For  the  person  to  whom  he  intrusted  the  dis 
posal  of  his  papers  would  have  thought  himself  wanting,  as 
well  to  the  service  of  the  public  as  to  the  fame  of  his  friend,  if 
he  had  not  produced  as  much  of  the  work  as  appeared  to  have 
been  prepared  for  publication.  In  this  light  he  considered  the 

»  To  Mr.  Dyson's  edition  of  Akenside's  Poems,  1772. 


114  ADVERTISEMENT. 

entire  First  and  Second  Books,  of  which  a  few  copies  had  been 
printed  for  the  use  only  of  the  author  and  certain  friends; 
also  a  very  considerable  part  of  the  Third  Book,  which  had 
been  transcribed  in  order  to  its  being  printed  iu  the  same  man 
ner;  and  to  these  is  added  the  Introduction  to  a  subsequent 
Book,  which,  in  the  manuscript,  is  called  the  Fourth,  and 
which  appears  to  have  been  composed  at  the  time  when  the 
author  intended  to  comprise  the  whole  in  Four  Books;  but 
which,  as  he  had  afterwards  determined  to  distribute  the  Poem 
into  more  books,  might  perhaps  more  properly  be  called  the 
Last  Book.  And  this  is  all  that  is  executed  of  the  new  work, 
which,  although  it  appeared  to  the  editor  too  valuable,  even  in 
its  imperfect  state,  to  be  withholden  from  the  public,  yet  (he 
conceives)  takes  in  by  much  too  small  a  part  of  the  oi'iginal 
Poem  to  supply  its  place,  and  to  supersede  the  republication 
of  it.  For  which  reason  both  the  Poems  are  inserted  in  this 
collection. 

Of  Odes  the  author  had  designed  to  make  up  Two  Books, 
consisting  of  twenty  Odes  each,  including  the  several  Odes 
which  he  had  before  published  at  different  times. 

The  Hymn  to  the  Naiads  is  reprinted  from  the  sixth  volume 
of  Dodsley's  Miscellanies,  with  a  few_corrections,  and  the  addi 
tion  of  some  notes.  To  the  Inscriptions  taken  from  the  same 
volume,  three  new  Inscriptions  are  added,  the  last  of  which  is 
the  only  instance  wherein  a  liberty  has  been  taken  of  inserting 
any  thfng  in  this  Collection, which  did  not  appear  to  have  been 
intended  by  the  author  for  publication ;  among  whose  papers 
no  copy  of  this  was  found,  but  it  is  printed  from  a  copy  which 
he  had  many  years  since  given  to  the  editor. 

The  author  of  these  Poems  was  born  at  Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne,  on  the  9th  day  of  November,  1721.  He  was  educated  at 
the* Grammar  School  at  Newcastle,  and  at  the  Universities  of 
Edinburgh  and  Leyden,  at  the  latter  of  which  he  took  his 
degree  of  Doctor  in  Physic.  He  was  afterwards  admitted  by 
mandamus  to  the  degree  of  Doctor  in  Physic  in  the  University 
of  Cambridge ;  elected  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  College  of  Phy 
sicians,  and  one  of  the  Physicians  of  St.  Thomas's  Hospital; 
and,  upon  the  establishment  of  the  Queen's  Household,  ap 
pointed  one  of  the  Physicians  to  Her  Majesty.  He  died  of  a 
putrid  fever,  on  the  23d  day  of  June,  1770,  and  is  buried  in  the 
parish  church  of  St.  James,  Westminster. 


THE 


PLEASURES  OF  IMAGINATION. 

A  POEM,  IN  THEEE  BOOKS. 


fiev  kanv  avdpunov  raf  napa  TOV  Qeov  ^apmrf  art- 
fxt£eiv.  —  EPICT.  apud  Arrian.  II.  23. 


THE  DESIGN. 

THERE  are  certain  powers  in  human  natjire  which  seem  to  hold 
a  middle  place  between  the  organs  of  bodily  sense  and  the 
faculties  of  moral  perception :  they  have  been  called  by  a  very 
general  name,  the  Powers  of  Imagination.  Like  the  external 
senses,  they  relate  to  matter  and  motion;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  give  the  mind  ideas  analogous  to  those  of  moral  approba 
tion  and  dislike.  As  they  are  the  inlets  of  some  of  the  most 
exquisite  pleasures  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  it  has 
naturally  happened  that  men  of  warm  and  sensible  tempers 
have  sought  means  to  recall  the  delightful  perceptions  which 
they  aflbrd,  independent  of  the  objects  which  originally  pro 
duced  them.  This  gave  rise  to  the  imitative  or  designing  arts ; 
some  of  which,  as  painting  and  sculpture,  directly  copy  the 
external  appearances  which  were  admired  in  nature;  others, 
as  music  and  poetry,  bring  them  back  to  remembrance  by 
signs  universally  established  and  understood. 
/  But  these  arts,  as  they  grew  more  correct  and  deliberate, 
''were  of  course  led  to  extend  their  imitation  beyond  the  peculiar 
objects  of  the  imaginative  powers ;  especially  poetry,  which, 
making  use  of  language  as  the  instrument  by  which  it  imitates, 


116  THE   DESIGN. 

is  consequently  become  an  unlimited  representative  of  every 
species  and  mode  of  being.  Yet,  as  their  intention  was  only 
to  express  the  objects  of  imagination,  and  as  they  still  abound 
chiefly  in  ideas  of  that  class,  they  of  course  retain  their  original 
character ;  and  all  the  different  pleasures  which  they  excite 
are  termed,  in  general,  Pleasures  of  Imagination. 

The  design  of  the  following  poem  is  to  give  a  view  of  these, 
in  the  largest  acceptation  of  the  term ;  so  that  whatever  our 
imagination  feels  from  the  agreeable  appearances  of  nature, 
and  all  the  various  entertainment  we  meet  with  either  in 
poetry,  painting,  music,  or  any  of  the  elegant  arts,  might  be 
deducible  from  one  or  other  of  those  principles  in  the  consti 
tution  of  the  human  mind  which  are  here  established  and 
explained.  ) 

In  executing  this  general  plan,  it  was  necessary,  first  of  all, 
to  distinguish  the  imagination  from  our  other  faculties ;  and, 
in  the  next  place,  to  characterize  those  original  forms  or  pro 
perties  of  being  about  which  it  is  conversant,  and  which  are 
by  nature  adapted  to  it,  as  light  is  to  the  eyes,  or  truth  to  the 
understanding.  These  properties  Mr.  Addison  had  reduced  to 
the  three  general  classes  of  greatness,  novelty,  and  beauty; 
and  into  these  we  may  analyze  every  object,  however  complex, 
which,  properly  speaking,  is  delightful  to  the  imagination. 
But  such  an  object  may  also  include  many  other  sources  of 
pleasure ;  and  its  beauty  or  novelty  or  grandeur  will  make  a 
stronger  impression  by  reason  of  this  concurrence.  Besides 
which,  the  imitative  arts,  especially  poetry,  owe  much  of  their 
effect  to  a  similar  exhibition  of  properties  quite  foreign  to  the 
imagination,  insomuch  that,  in  every  line  (of  the  most  ap 
plauded  poems,  we  meet  with  either  ideas  drawn  from  the 
external  senses,  or  truths  discovered  to  the  understanding,  or 
illustrations  of  contrivance  and  final  causes,  or,  above  all  the 
rest,  with  circumstances  proper  to  awaken  and  engage  the  pas 
sions.  It  was  therefore  necessary  to  enumerate  and  exemplify 
these  different  species  of  pleasure,  especially  that  from  the 
passions,  which,  as  it  is  supreme  in  the  noblest  work  of  human 
genius,  so  being  in  some  particulars  not  a  little  surprising, 
gave  an  opportunity  to  enliven  the  didactic  turn  of  the  poem,  , 
by  introducing  an  allegory  to  account  for  the  appearance.  / 


THE    DESIGN. 


117 


/  After  these  parts  of  the  subject,  which  hold  chiefly  of  admi 
ration,  or  naturally  warm  and  interest  the  mind,  a  pleasure  of 
a  very  different  nature,  that  which  arises  from  ridicule,  came 
next  to  be  considered.  As  this  is  the  foundation  of  the  comic 
manner  in  all  the  arts,  and  has  been  but  very  imperfectly 
treated  by  moral  writers,  it  was  thought  proper  to  give  it  a 
particular  illustration,  and  to  distinguish  the  general  sources 
from  which  the  ridicule  of  characters  is  derived.  Here,  too, 
a  change  of  style  became  necessary ;  such  a  one  as  might  yet 
be  consistent,  if  possible,  with  the  general  taste  of  composition 
in  the  serious  parts  of  the  subject ;  nor  is  it  an  easy  task  to 
give  any  tolerable  force  to  images  of  this  kind,  without  running 
either  into  the  gigantic  expressions  of  the  mock  heroic,  or  the 
familiar  and  poetical  raillery  of  professed  satire,  neither  of 
which  would  have  been  proper  here.  . 

The  materials  of  all  imitation  being  thus  laid  open,  nothing 
now  remained  but  to  illustrate  some  particular  pleasures, 
which  arise  either  from  the  relations  of  different  objects  one 
to  another,  or  from  the  nature  of  imitation  itself.  (jOf  the  first 
kind  is  that  various  and  complicated  resemblance  existing 
between  several  parts  of  the  material  and  immaterial  worlds, 
which  is  the  foundation  of  metaphor  and  wit.  As  it  seems  in 
a  great  measure  to  depend  on  the  early  association  of  our  ideas, 
and  as  this  habit  of  associating  is  the  source  of  many  pleasures 
and  pains  in  life,  and  on  that  account  bears  a  great  share  in 
the  influence  of  poetry  and  the  other  arts,  it  is  therefore  men 
tioned  here,  and  its  effects  described.  Then  follows  a  general 
account  of  the  production  of  these  elegant  arts,  and  of  the 
secondary  pleasure,  as  it  is  called,  arising  from  the  resemblance 
of  their  imitations  to  the  original  appearances  of  nature.  After 
which,  the  work  concludes  with  some  reflections  on  the  gene 
ral  conduct  of  the  powers  of  imagination,  and  on  their  natural 
and  moral  usefulness  in  life. 

Concerning  the  manner  or  turn  of  composition  which  pre 
vails  in  this  piece,  little  can  be  said  with  propriety  by  the 
author.  He  had  two  models:  that  ancient  and  simple  one  of 
the  first  Grecian  poets,  as  it  is  refined  by  Virgil  in  the  Georgics ; 
and  the  familiar,  epistolary  way  of  Horace.  This  latter  has 
several  advantages.  It  admits  of  a  greater  variety  of  style; 


118  THE    DESIGN. 

it  more  readily  engages  the  generality  of  readers,  as  partaking 
more  of  the  air  of  conversation;  and,  especially  with  the  assist 
ance  of  rhyme,  leads  to  a  closer  and  more  concise  expression.  ) 
Add  to  this  the  example  of  the  most  perfect  of  modern  poets, 
who  has  so  happily  applied  this  manner  to  the  noblest  parts  of 
philosophy,  that  the  public  taste  is  in  a  great  measure  formed 
to  it  alone.  Yet,  after  all,  the  subject  before  us,  tending  almost 
constantly  to  admiration  and  enthusiasm,  seemed  rather  to 
demand  a  more  open,  pathetic,  and  figured  style.(  This,  too, 
appeared  more  natural;  as  the  author's  aim  was  not  so  much 
to  give  formal  precepts,  or  enter  into  the  way  of  direct  argu 
mentation,  as,  by  exhibiting  the  most  engaging  prospects  of 
nature,  to  enlarge  and  harmonize  the  imagination,  and  by  that 
means  insensibly  dispose  the  minds  of  men  to  a  similar  taste 
and  habit  of  thinking  in  religion,  morals,  and  civil  life.  'Tis 
on  this  account  that  he  is  so  careful  to  point  out  the  benevo 
lent  intention  of  the  Author  of  nature  in  every  principle  ot 
the  human  constitution  here  insisted  on,  and  also  to  unite  the 
moral  excellencies  of  life  in  the  same  point  of  view  with 
the  mere  external  objects  of  good  taste;  thus  recommending 
them  in  common  to  our  natural  propensity  for  admiring  what 
is  beautiful  and  lovely.  The  same  views  have  also  led  him 
to  introduce  some  sentiments  which  may  perhaps  be  looked 
upon  as  not  quite  direct  to  the  subject;  but,  since  they  bear 
an  obvious  relation  to  it,  the  authority  of  yirgil,  the  faultless 
model  of  didactic  poetry,  will  best  support  him  in  this  parti 
cular.  For  the  sentiments  themselves  he  makes  no  apology. 


PLEASURES    OP   IMAGINATION.  119 


BOOK   I. 

AKGUMENT. 

THE  subject  proposed.  Difficulty  of  treating  it  poetically.  The  ideas 
of  the  Divine  Mind,  the  origin  of  every  quality  pleasing  to  the 
imagination.  The  natural  variety  of  constitution  in  the  minds  of 
men,  with  its  final  cause.  The  idea  of  a  fine  imagination,  and  the 
state  of  the  mind  in  the  enjoyment  of  those  pleasures  which  it 
affords.  All  the  primary  pleasures  of  the  imagination  result  from 
the  perception  of  greatness  or  wonderfulness  or  beauty  in  objects. 
The  pleasure  from  greatness,  with  its  final  cause.  Pleasure  from 
novelty  or  wonderfulness,  with  its  final  cause.  Pleasure  from  beauty, 
vdth  its  final  cause.  The  connection  of  beauty  with  truth  and  good, 
applied  to  the  conduct  of  life.  Invitation  to  the  study  of  moral 
philosophy.  The  different  degrees  of  beauty  in  different  species  of 
objects :  colour,  shape,  natural  concretes,  vegetables,  animals,  the 
mind.  The  sublime,  the  faif,  the  wonderful  of  the  mind.  The 
connection  of  the  imagination  and  the  moral  faculty.  Conclu 
sion. 

WITH  what  attractive  charms  this  goodly  frame 

Of  Nature  touches  the  consenting  hearts 

Of  mortal  men ;  and  what  the  pleasing  stores 

Which  beauteous  Imitation  thence  derives 

To  deck  the  poet's  or  the  painter's  toil,  — 

My  verse  unfolds.     Attend,  ye  gentle  powers 

Of  musical  delight !  and  while  I  sing 

Your  gifts,  your  honours,  dance  around  my  strain. 

Thou,  smiling  queen  of  every  tuneful  breast, 

Indulgent  Fancy  !  from  the  fruitful  banks  10 

Of  Avon,  whence  thy  rosy  fingers  cull 

Fresh  flowers  and  dews  to  sprinkle  on  the  turf 

Where  Shakespeare  lies,  be  present ;  and  with  thee 


120  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Let  Fiction  come,  upon  her  vagrant  wings 
Wafting  ten  thousand  colours  through  the  air, 
Which,  by  the  glances  of  her  magic  eye, 
She  blends  and  shifts  at  will,  thro'  countless  forms, 
Her  wild  creation.     Goddess  of  the  lyre, 
Which  rules  the  accents  of  the  moving  sphere, 
Wilt  thou,  eternal  Harmony,  descend  20 

And  join  this  festive  train  ?  for  with  thee  comes 
The  guide,  the  guardian  of  their  lovely  sports, 
Majestic  Truth ;  and  where  Truth  deigns  to  come, 
Her  sister  Liberty  will  not  be  far. 
Be  present,  all  ye  Genii,  who  conduct 
The  wandering  footsteps  of  the  youthful  bard, 
New  to  your  springs  and  shades ;  who  touch  his  ear 
With  finer  sounds ;  who  heighten  to  his  eye 
The  bloom  of  Nature,  and  before  him  turn 
The  gayest,  happiest  attitude  of  things.  so 

Oft  have  the  laws  of  each  poetic  strain 
The  critic-verse  employ'd  ;  yet  still  unsung 
Lay  this  prime  subject,  though  importing  most 
A  poet's  name  :  for  fruitless  is  the  attempt, 
By  dull  obedience  and  by  creeping  toil 
Obscure,  to  conquer  the  severe  ascent 
Of  high  Parnassus.  ^Nature's  kindling  breath 
Must  fire  the  chosen  genius ;  Nature's  hand 
Must  string  his  nerves,  and  imp  his  eagle-wings 
Impatient  of  the  painful  steep,  to  soar  40 

High  as  the  summit ;  there  to  breathe  at  large 
Ethereal  air ;  with  bards  and  sages  old, 
Immortal  sons  of  praise.    These  flattering  scenes, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  121 

To  this  neglected  labour  court  my  song ; 
Yet  not  unconscious  what  a  doubtful  task 
To  paint  the  finest  features  of  the  mind, 
And  to  most  subtile  and  mysterious  things 
Give  colour,  strength,  and  motiony    But  the  love 
Of  Nature  and  the  Muses  bids  explore, 
Through  secret  paths  erewhile  untrod  by  man,     w 
The  fair  poetic  region,  to  detect 
Untasted  springs,  to  drink  inspiring  draughts, 
And  shade  my  temples  with  unfading  flowers 
Cull'd  from  the  laureate  vale's  profound  recess, 
Where  never  poet  gain'd,a  wreath  before. 

From  Heaven  my  strains  begin ;  from  Heaven 

descends 

The  flame  of  genius  to  the  human  breast, 
And  love,  and  beauty,  and  poetic  joy, 
And  inspiration.     Ere  the  radiant  sun 
Sprang  from  the  east,  or  'mid  the  vault  of  niglit  eo 
The  moon  suspended  her  serener  lamp ; 
Ere  mountains,  woods,  or  streams  adorn'd  the  globe, 
Or  Wisdom  taught  the  sons  of  men  her  lore ; 
Then  liv'd  the  Almighty  One :  then,  deep-retir'd 
In  his  unfathom'd  essence,  view'd  the  forms, 
The  forms  eternal  of  created  things ; 
The  radiant  sun,  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp, 
The  mountains,woods,  and  streams,  the  rollingglobe, 
And  Wisdom's  mien  celestial.     From  the  first 
Of  days,  on  them  his  love  divine  he  fix'd,  to 

His  admiration ;  till  in  time  complete 
What  he  admir'd  and  lov'd,  his  vital  smile 
i 


122  THE   PLEASURES    OP 

Unfolded  into  being.     Hence  the  breath 

Of  life  informing  each  organic  frame, 

Hence  the  green  earth,  and  wild  resounding  waves: 

Hence  light  and  shade  alternate,  warmth  and  cold; 

And  clear  autumnal  skies  and  vernal  showers, 

And  all  the  fair  variety  of  things. 

But  not  alike  to  every  mortal  eye 
Is  this  great  scene  unveil'd.     For  since  the  claims 
Of  social  life  to  different  labours  urge  si 

The  active  powers  of  man,  with  wise  intent 
,  The  hand  of  Nature  on  peculiar  minds 
i  Imprints  a  different  biasj  and  to  each 
\  Decrees  its  province  in  the  common  toil. 
To  some  she  taught  the  fabric  of  the  sphere, 
The  changeful  moon,  the  circuit  of  the  stars, 
The  golden  zones  of  heaven :  to  some  she  gave 
To  weigh  the  moment  of  eternal  things, 
Of 'time,  and  space,  and  fate's  unbroken  chain,     oo 
And  will's  quick  impulse :  others  by  the  hand 
She  led  o'er  vales  and  mountains,  to  explore 
What  healing  virtue  swells  the  tender  veins 
Of  herbs  and  flowers  j(  or  what  the  beams  of  morn 
Draw  forth1}  distilling  from  the  clifted  rind 
In  balmy  tears.     But  some,  to  higher  hopes 
Were  destin'd  ;  some  within  a  finer  mould 
She  wrought,  and  temper'd  with  a  purer  flame. 
To  these  the  Sire  Omnipotent  unfolds 
The  world's  harmonious  volume,  there  to  read    100 
The  transcript  of  Himself.     On  every  part 
They  trace  the  bright  impressions  of  his  hand : 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    I.  123 

In  earth  or  air,  the  meadow's  purple  stores, 
The  moon's  mild  radiance,) or  the  virgin's  form 
Blooming  with  rosy  smiles,  they  see  portray'd      v 
That  uncreated  beauty,  which  delights 
The  Mind  supreme.     They  also  feel  her  charms, 
Enamour'd;  they  partake  the  eternal  joy. 

For  as  old  Memrion's  image,  long  renown'd 
By  fabling  Nilus,  to  the  quivering  touch  no 

Of  Titan's  ray,  with  each  repulsive  string 
Consenting,  sounded  through  the  warbling  air  y 
Unbidden  strains ;  even  so  did  Nature's  hand 
To  certain  species  of  external  things, 
Attune  the  finer  organs  of  the  mind  : 
So  the  glad  impulse  of  congenial  powers, 
Or  of  sweet  sound,  or  fair  proportion'd  form, 
The  grace  of  motion,  or  the  bloom  of  light, 
Thrills  through  Imagination's  tender  frame, 
From  nerve  to  nerve  :  all  naked  and  alive  120 

They  catch  the  spreading  rays ;  till  now  the  soul 
At  length  discloses  every  tuneful  spring, 
To  that  harmonious  movement  from  without 
Responsive.     Then  the  inexpressive  strain 
Diffuses  its  enchantment ;  Fancy  dreams 
Of  sacred  fountains,  and  Elysian  groves, 
And  vales  of  bliss ;  the  intellectual  power 
Bends  from  his  awful  throne  a  wondering  ear, 
And  smiles ;  the  passions,  gently  sooth'd  away, 
Sink  to  divine  repose,  and  love  and  joy  iso 

Alone  are  waking ;  love  and  joy,  serene 
'  As  airs  that  fan  the  summer.     O  !  attend, 


/ 


"*" 


124  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Who'er  thou  art,  whom  these  delights  can  touch, 
Whose  candid  bosom  the  refining  love 
Of  Nature  warms,  0  !  listen  to  my  song  ; 
And  I  will  guide  thee  to  her  favourite  walks, 
And  teach  thy  solitude  her  voice  to  hear, 
And  point  her  loveliest  features  to  thy  view. 

Know,  then,  whate'er  of  Nature's  pregnant  stores, 
Whate'er  of  mimic  Art's  reflected  forms,  MO 

With  love  and  admiration  thus  inflame 
The  powers  of  Fancy,  her  delighted  sons 
To  three  illustrious  orders  have  referr'd  ; 
Three  sister  graces,  whom  the  painter's  hand, 
The  poet's  tongue,  confesses  ;  the  sublime, 
The  wonderful,  the  fair.     I  see  them  dawn  ! 
I  see  the  radiant  visions,  where  they  rise, 
More  lovely  than  when  Lucifer  displays 
His  beaming  forehead  through  the  gates  of  morn, 
To  lead  the  train  of  Phoebus  and  the  spring.       isa 

Say,  why  was  man  so  eminently  rais'd 
Amid  the  vast  Creation  ;  why  ordain'd 
Through  life  and  death  to  dart  his  piercing  eye, 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  limit  of  his  frame  ; 
But  that  the  Omnipotent  might  send  him  forth, 
In  sight  of  mortal  and  immortal  powers, 
As  on  a  boundless  theatre,  to  run 
The  great  career  of  justice  ;  to  exalt 
His  generous  aim  to  all  diviner  deeds; 
To  chase  each  partial  purpose  from  his  breast;  ico 
And  through  the  mists  of  passion  and  of  sense, 
And  through  the  tossing  tide  of  chance  and  pain, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK  I.  125 

To  hold  his  course  unfaltering,  while  the  voice 
Of  truth  and  virtue,  up  the  steep  ascent 
Of  nature,  calls  him  to  his  high  reward, 
The  applauding  smile  of  Heaven  ?   Else  wherefore 
In  mortal  bosoms  this  unquenched  hope,       [burns 
That  breathes  from  day  to  day  sublimer  things, 
And  mocks  possession  ?  wherefore  darts  the  mind, 
With  such  resistless  ardour,  to  embrace  170 

Majestic  forms ;  impatient  to  be  free, 
Spurning  the  gross  control  of  wilful  might ; 
Proud  of  the  strong  contention  of  her  toils ; 
Proud  to  be  daring  ?     Who  but  rather  turns 
To  heaven's  broad  fire  his  unconstrained  view, 
Than  to  the  glimmering  of  a  waxen  flame  ? 
Who  that,  from  Alpine  heights,  his  labouring  eye 
Shoots  round  the  wide  horizon,  to  survey 
Nilus  or  Ganges  rolling  his  bright  wave      [shade, 
Thro'  mountains,  plains,  thro'  empires  black  with 
And  continents  of  sand,  will  turn  his  gaze  isi 

To  mark  the  windings  of  a  scanty  rill 
That  murmurs  at  his  feet  ?  !  The  high-born  soul 
Disdains  to  rest  her  heaven-aspiring  wing 
Beneath  its  native  quarry.     Tir'd  of  earth 
And  this  diurnal  scene,  she  springs  aloft 
Through  fields  of  air ;  pursues  the  flying  storm ; 
Rides  on  the  vollied  lightnings  through  the  heavens  ; 
Or,  yok'd  with  whirlwinds  and  the  northern  blast, 
Sweeps  the  long  tract  of  day.     Then  high  she  soars 
The  blue  profound,  and,  hovering  round  the  sun, 
Beholds  him  pouring  the  redundant  stream          MB 


126  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Of  light ;  beholds  his  unrelenting  sway 

Bend  the  reluctant  planets  to  absolve 

The  fated  rounds  of  Time.     Thence  far  efFus'd 

She  darts  her  swiftness  up  the  long  career 

Of  devious  comets ;  through  its  burning  signs 

Exulting  measures  the  perennial  wheel 

Of  Nature,  and  looks  back  on  all  the  stars,        / 

"Whose  blended  light,  as  with  a  milky  zone,         2(X 

Invests  the  orient.     Now  amazM  she  views 

The  empyreal  waste,  where  happy  spirits  hold, 

Beyond  this  concave  heaven,  their  cairn  abode ; 

And  fields  of  radiance,  whose  unfading  light 

Has  travell'd  the  profound  six  thousand  years, 

Nor  yet  arrives  in  sight  of  mortal  things. 

Even  on  the  barriers  of  the  world,  untir'd, 

She  meditates  the  eternal  depth  below  ; 

Till,  half  recoiling,  down  the  headlong  steep 

She  plunges ;  soon  o'erwhelm'd  and  swallow'd  up 

In  that  immense  of  being.     There  her  hopes      211 

Rest  at  the  fated  goal.     For  from  the  birth 

Of  mortal  man,  the  Sovereign  Maker  said, 

That  not  in  humble  nor  in  brief  delight, 

Not  in  the  fading  echoes  of  renown, 

Power's  purple  robes,  nor  pleasure's  flowery  lap, 

The  soul  should  find  enjoyment ;  but  from  these, 

Turning  disdainful  to  an  equal  good, 

Through  all  the  ascent  of  things  enlarge  her  view, 

Till  every  bound  at  length  should  disappear,       220 

And  infinite  perfection  close  the  scene. 

Call  now  to  mind  what  high  capacious  powers 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK  I.  127 

Lie  folded  up  in  man ;  how  far  beyond 

The  praise  of  mortals  may  the  eternal  growth 

Of  Nature  to  perfection  half  divine, 

Expand  the  blooming  soulP^)  What  pity,  then, 

Should  sloth's  unkindly  fogs  depress  to  earth 

Her  tender  blossom  ;  choke  the  streams  of  life, 

And  blast  her  spring !     Far  otherwise  design'd 

Almighty  Wisdom ;  Nature's  happy  cares 

The  obedient  heart  far  otherwise  incline.  S 

Witness  the  sprightly  joy  when  aught  unknown   1* 

Strikes  the  quick  sense,  and  wakes  each  active,  power 

To  brisker  measures  :  witness  the  neglect 

Of  all  familiar  prospects,  though  beheld 

With  transport  once ;  the  fond  attentive  gaze 

Of  young  astonishment ;  the  sober  zeal 

Of  age,  commenting  on  prodigious  things. 

For  such  the  bounteous  providence  of  Heaven, 

In  every  breast  implanting  this  desire  240 

Of  objects  new  and  strange,  to  urge  us  on 

With  unremitted  labour  to  pursue 

Those  sacred  stores  that  wait  the  ripening  soul, 

In  Truth's  cxhaustless  bosom.     What  need  words 

To  paint  its  power?     For  this  the  daring  youth 

Breaks  from  his  weeping  mother's  anxious  arms, 

In  foreign  climes  to  rove ;  the  pensive  sage, 

Heedless  of  sleep,  or  midnight's  harmful  damp, 

Hangs  o'er  the  sickly  taper ;  and,  untir'd, 

The  virgin  follows,  with  enchanted  step,  250 

The  mazes  of  some  wild  and  wondrous  tale, 

From  morn  to  eve ;  unmindful  of  her  form, 


128  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Unmindful  of  the  happy  dress  that  stole 
The  wishes  of  the  youth,  when  every  maid 
With  envy  pin'd.  •  Hence,  finally,  by  night 
The  village-matron,  round  the  blazing  hearth, 
Suspends  the  infant  audience  with  her  tales, 
t  Breathing  astonishment !  of  witching  rhymes, 
And  evil  spirits ;  of  the  death-bed  call 
Of  him  who  robb'd  the  widow,  and  devour'd       260^ 
The  orphan's  portion ;  of  unquiet  souls 
Risen  from  the  grave  to  ease  the  heavy  guilt 
Of  deeds  in  life  concealed ;  of  shapes  that  walk 
At  dead  of  night,  and  clank  their  chains,  and  wave 
The  torch  of  hell  around  the  murderer's  bed. 
At  every  solemn  pause  the  crowd  recoil, 
Gazing  each  other  speechless,  and  congeal'd 
With  shivering  sighs ;  till,  eager  for  the  event, 
Around  the  beldame  all  erect  they  hang, 
Each  trembling  heart  with  grateful  terrors  quelPd. 
But  lo !  disclos'd  in  all  her  smiling  pomp,         271 
Where  Beauty  onward  moving  claims  the  verse 
Her  charms  inspire :  the  freely -flowing  verse 
In  thy  immortal  praise,  O  form  divine  ! 
Smooths  her  mellifluent  stream.  Thee,  Beauty,  thee 
The  regal  dome,  and  thy  enlivening  ray 
The  mossy  roofs  adore  :  thou,  better  sun ! 
For  ever  beamest  on  the  enchanted  heart 
Love,  and  harmonious  wonder,  and  delight 
Poetic.     Brightest  progeny  of  Heaven  !  230 

How  shall  I  trace  thy  features  ?  where  select 
The  roseate  hues  to  emulate  thy  bloom  ? 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    I.  129 

Haste,  then,  my  song,  thro'  Nature's  wide  expanse, 
Haste,  then,  and  gather  all  her  comeliest  wealth, 
Whate'er  bright  spoils  the  florid  earth  contains, 
Whate'er  the  waters,  or  the  liquid  air, 
To  deck  thy  lovely  labour.     Wilt  thou  fly 
With  laughing  Autumn  to  the  Atlantic  isles, 
And  range  with  him  the  Hesperian  field,  and  see 
Where'er  his  fingers  touch  the  fruitful  grove,       230 
The  branches  shoot  with  gold ;  where'er  his  step 
Marks  the  glad  soil,  the  tender  clusters  grow 
With  purple  ripeness,  and  invest  each  hill 
As  with  the  blushes  of  an  evening  sky  ?^ 
Or  wilt  thou  rather  stoop  thy  vagrant  plume, 
Where,  gliding  thro'  his  daughter's  honour'd  shades 
The  smooth  Peneus  from  his  glassy  flood 
Reflects  purpureal  Tempe's  pleasant  scene  ? 
Fair  Tempe  !  haunt  belov'd  of  sylvan  Powers, 
Of  Nymphs  and  Fauns ;  where  in  the  golden  age 
They  play'd  in  secret  on  the  shady  brink  soi 

With  ancient  Pan ;  while  round  their  choral  steps 
Young  Hours  and  genial  Gales  with  constant  hand 
Shower'd  blossoms,  odours,  shower'd  ambrosial 

dews, 

And  spring's  Elysian  bloom.     Her  flowery  store 
To  thee  nor  Tempe  shall  refuse ;  nor~ watcfi~~ 
Of  winged  Hydra  guard  Hesperian  fruits 
From  thy  free  spoil.     O  bear  then;  unreprov'd, 
Thy  smiling  treasures  to  the  green  recess 
Where  young  Dione  stays.    With  sweetest  airs 
Entice  her  forth  to  lend  her  angel  form  ni 


130  THE    PLEASURES    OP 

For  Beauty's  honour'd  image.     Hither  turn 
Thy  graceful  footsteps  ;  hither,  gentle  maid, 
Incline  thy  polish'd  forehead :  let  thy  eyes 
Effuse  the  mildness  of  their  azure  dawn ; 
And  may  the  fanning  breezes  waft  aside 
Thy  radiant  locks  ;  disclosing,  as  it  bends 
With  airy  softness  from  the  marble  neck, 
The  cheek  fair-blooming,  and  the  rosy  lip,  fc 

Where  winning  smiles  and  pleasures  sweet  as  love, 
With  sanctity  and  wisdom,  tempering  blend         321 
Their  soft  allurement.     Then  the  pleasing  force 
Of  Nature,  and  her  kind,  parental  care, 
Worthier  I'd  sing;  then  all  the  enamour'd  youth, 
With  each  admiring  virgin,  to  my  lyre 
Should  throng  attentive,  while  I  point  on  high 
•  Where  Beauty's  living  image,  like  the  Morn 
That  wakes  in  Zephyr's  arms  the  blushing  May, 
Moves  onward ;  or  as  Venus,  when  she  stood 
Effulgent  en  the  pearly  car,  and  smil'd,  sso 

Fresh  from  the  deep,  and  conscious  of  her  form, 
To  see  the  Tritons  tune  their  vocal  shells, 
And  each  cerulean  sister  of  the  flood 
With  loud  acclaim  attend  her  o'er  the  waves, 
To  seek  the  Idalian  bower.     Ye  smiling  band 
Of  youths  and  virgins,  who,  through  all  the  maze 
Of  young  desire,  with  rival  steps  pursue 
This  charm  of  Beauty ;  if  the  pleasing  toil 
Can  yield  a  moment's  respite,  hither  turn 
Your  favourable  ear,  and  trust  my  words.  «o 

I  do  not  mean  to  wake  the  gloomy  form 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    I.  131 

Of  Superstition,  dress'd  in  Wisdom's  garb, 
To  damp  your  tender  hopes ;  I  do  not  mean 
To  bid  the  jealous  thunderer  fire  the  heavens, 
Or  shapes  infernal  rend  the  groaning  earth, 
To  fright  you  from  your  joys :  my  cheerful  song 
With  better  omens  calls  you  to  the  field, 
Pleas'd  with  your  generous  ardour  in  the  chase, 
And  warm  like  you.     Then  tell  me,  for  ye  know, 
Does  Beauty  ever  deign  to  dwell  where  health   8SO 
And  active  use  are  strangers  ?     Is  her  charm 
Confess'd  in  aught,  whose  most  peculiar  ends 
Are  lame  and  fruitless  ?     Or  did  Nature  mean 
This  pleasing  call  the  herald  of  a  lie ; 
To  hide  the  shame  of  discord  and  disease, 
And  catch  with  fair  hypocrisy  the  heart 
Of  idle  faith  ?     O  no !  with  better  cares 
The  indulgent  mother,  conscious  how  infirm 
Her  offspring  tread  the  paths  of  good  and  ill, 
By  this  illustrious  image,  in  each  kind 
Still  most  illustrious  where  the  object  holds 
Its  native  powers  most  perfect,  she  by  this 
Illumes  the  headstrong  impulse  of  desire, 
And  sanctifies  his  choice.     The  generous  glebe 
Whose  bosom  smiles  with  verdure,  the  clear  tract 
Of  streams  delicious  to  the  thirsty  soul, 
The  bloom  of  nectar'd  fruitage  ripe  to  sense, 
And  every  charm  of  animated  things, 
Are  only  pledges  of  a  state  sincere, 
The  integrity  and  order  of  their  frame,  570 

When  all  is  well  within,  and  every  end 


132  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Accomplish'd.   Thus  was  Beauty  sent  from  heaven, 

The  lovely  ministress  of  Truth  and  Good 

In  this  dark  world ;  for  Truth  and  Good  are  one, 

And  Beauty  dwells  in  them,  and  they  in  her, 

With  like  participation.  }  Wherefore,  then, 

O  sons  of  earth !  would  ye  dissolve  the  tie  ? 

O  wherefore,  with  a  rash,  impetuous  aim, 

Seek  ye  those  flowery  joys  with  which  the  hand 

Of  lavish  Fancy  paints  each  flattering  scene       aso 

Where  Beauty  seems  to  dwell ;  nor  once  inquire 

Where  is  the  sanction  of  eternal  Truth, 

Or  where  the  seal  of  undeceitful  good, 

To  save  your  search  from  folly  !     Wanting  these, 

L/o !  Beauty  withers  in  your  void  embrace, 

And  with  the  glittering  of  an  idiot's  toy 

Did  Fancy  mock  your  vows.     Nor  let  the  gleam 

Of  youthful  hope  that  shines  upon  your  hearts 

Be  chill'd  or  clouded  at  this  awful  task, 

To  learn  the  lore  of  undeceitful  good,  xx> 

And  Truth  eternal.     Though  the  poisonous  charms 

Of  baleful  Superstition  guide  the  feet 

Of  servile  numbers,  through  a  dreary  way 

To  their  abode,  through  deserts,  thorns,  and  mire ; 

And  leave  the  wretched  pilgrim  all  forlorn 

To  muse  at  last  amid  the  ghostly  gloom 

Of  graves,  and  hoary  vaults,  and  cloister'd  cells ; 

To  walk  with  spectres  through  the  midnight  shade, 

And  to  the  screaming  owl's  accursed  song 

Attune  the  dreadful  workings  of  his  heart ;         «o 

Yet  be  not  ye  dismay'd.     A  gentler  star 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I. 

Your  lovely  search  illumines.     From  the  grove 
Where  "Wisdom  talk'd  with  her  Athenian  sons, 
Could  my  ambitious  hand  entwine  a  wreath 
Of  Plato's  olive  with  the  Mantuan  bay, 
Then  should  my  powerful  verse  at  once  dispel 
Those  monkish  horrors ;  then  in  light  divine 
Disclose  the  Elysian  prospect,  where  the  steps 
Of  those  whom  Nature  charms,  through  blooming 

walks, 

Through  fragrant  mountains  and  poetic  streams, 
Amid  the  train  of  sages,  heroes,  bards,  411 

Led  by  their  winged  Genius,  and  the  choir 
Of  laurell'd  science  and  harmonious  art, 
Proceed  exulting  to  the  eternal  shrine, 
Where  Truth  conspicuous  with  her  sister-twins, 
The  undivided  partners  of  her  sway, 
With  good  and  beauty  reigns.     O  let  not  us, 
Lull'd  by  luxurious  Pleasure's  languid  strain, 
Or  crouching  to  the  frowns  of  bigot  rage, 
0  let  us  not  a  moment  pause  to  join  420 

That  godlike  band.     And  if  the  gracious  Power 
Who  first  awaken'd  my  untutor'd  song, 
Will  to  my  invocation  breathe  anew 
The  tuneful  spirit ;  then,  through  all  our  paths, 
Ne'er  shall  the  sound  of  this  devoted  lyre 
Be  wanting ;  whether  on  the  rosy  mead, 
When  summer  smiles,  to  warn  the  melting  heart 
Of  luxury's  allurement ;  whether  firm 
Against  the  torrent  and  the  stubborn  hill 
To  urge  bold  Virtue's  unremitted  nerve,  «c 


134  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

And  wake  the  strong  divinity  of  soul 

That  conquers  chance  and  fate ;  or  whether  struck 

For  sounds  of  triumph,  to  proclaim  her  toils 

Upon  the  lofty  summit,  round  her  brow 

To  twine  the  wreath  of  incorruptive  praise ; 

To  trace  her  hallow'd  light  through  future  worlds, 

And  bless  Heaven's  image  in  the  heart  of  man. 

Thus  with  a  faithful  aim  have  we  presuin'd, 
Adventurous,  to  delineate  Nature^  form ; 
"Whether  in  vast,  majestic  pomp  array'd,  «o 

Or  drest  for  pleasing  wonder,  or  serene 
In  Beauty's  rosy  smile.     It  now  remains, 
Through  various  being's  fair  proportioned  scale, 
To  trace  the  rising  lustre  of  her  charms, 
From  their  first  twilight,  shining  forth  at  length 
To  full  meridian  splendour.     Of  degree 
\The  least  and  lowliest,  in  the  effusive  warmth 
/Of  colours  mingling  with  a  random  blaze, 
Doth  Beauty  dwell.     Then  higher  in  the  line 
And  variation  of  determin'd  shape,  450 

Where  Truth's  eternal  measures  mark  the  bound 
Of  circle,  cube,  or  sphere.     The  third  ascent 
Unites  this  varied  symmetry  of  parts 
With  colour's  bland  allurement ;  as  the  pearl 
Shines  in  the  concave  of  its  azure  bed, 
And  painted  shells  indent  their  speckled  wreath. 
Then  more  attractive  rise  the  blooming  forms 
Through  which  the  breath  of  Nature  has  infus'd 
Her  genial  power  to  draw  with  pregnant  veins 
Nutritious  moisture  from  the  bounteous  earth,     400 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  135 

In  fruit  and  seed  prolific :  thus  the  flowers 
f  Their  purple  honours  with  the  Spring  resume ; 
And  such  the  stately  tree  which  Autumn  bends 
With  blushing  treasures.     But  more  lovely  still 
Is  Nature's  charm,  where  to  the  full  consent 
Of  complicated  members,  to  the  bloom 
Of  colour,  and  the  vital  change  of  growth,  \ 
Life's  holy  flame  and  piercing  sense  are  given, 
And  active  motion  speaks  the  temper'd  soul : 
So  moves  the  bird  of  Juno ;  so  the  steed  tfo 

With  rival  ardour  beats  the  dusty  plain, 
And  faithful  dogs  with  eager  airs  of  joy 
Salute  their  fellows.     Thus  doth  Beauty  dwell 
There  most  conspicuous,  even  in  outward  shape, 
Where  dawns  the  high  expression  of  a  mind  ;\ 
By  steps  conducting  our  enraptur'd  search 
To  that  eternal  origin,  whose  power, 
Through  all  the  unbounded  symmetry  of  things, 
Like  rays  effulging  from  the  parent  sun, 
This  endless  mixture  of  her  charms  diffus'd.       430 
]\lind,  mind  alone,  (bear  witness  earth  and  heaven  !) 
The  living  fountains  in  itself  contains 
Of  beauteous  and  sublime :  here,  hand  in  hand, 
Sit  paramount  the  Graces ;  here  enthron'd, 
Celestial  Venus,  with  divinest  airs, 
Invites  the  soul  to  never-fading  joy. 
Look  then  abroad  through  nature,  to  the  range 
Of  planets,  suns,  and  adamantine  spheres 
Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  void  immense ; 
And  speak,  O  man !  does  this  capacious  scene 


136  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

With  half  that  kindling  majesty  dilate 
Thy  strong  conception,  as  when  Brutus  rose 
Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  Caesar's  fate, 
Amid  the  crowd  of  patriots ;  and  his  arm 
Aloft  extending,  like  eternal  Jove 
When  guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  call'd  aloud 
On  Tully's  name,  and  shook  his  crimson  steel, 
And  bade  the  father  of  his  country,  hail ! 
For  lo !  the  tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust, 
And  Rome  again  is  free !     Is  aught  so  fair          «oo 
In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  Spring, 
In  the  bright  eye  of  Hesper,  or  the  morn, 
In  Nature's  fairest  forms,  is  aught  so  fair 
As  virtuous  friendship  ?  as  the  candid  blush 
Of  him  who  strives  with  fortune  to  be  just  ? 
The  graceful  tear  that  streams  for  others'  woes  ? 
Or  the  mild  majesty  of  private  life, 
Where  Peace  with  ever-blooming  olive  crowns 
The  gate ;  where  Honour's  liberal  hands  effuse 
Unenvied  treasures,  and  the  snowy  wings  «io 

Of  Innocence  and  Love  protect  the  scene  ? 
Once  more  search,  undismay'd,  the  dark  profound 
Where  Nature  works  in  secret ;  view  the  beds 
Of  mineral  treasure,  and  the  eternal  vault 
That  bounds  the  hoary  ocean ;  trace  the  forms 
Of  atoms  moving  with  incessant  change 
p Their  elemental  round;  behold  the  seeds 
Of  being,  and  the  energy  of  life 
Kindling  the  mass  with  ever-active  flame : 
Then  to  the  secrets  of  the  working  mind 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  137 

Attentive  turn ;  from  dim  oblivion  call 

Her  fleet,  ideal  band  ;  and  bid  them,  go ! 

Break  through  time's  barrier,  and  o'ertake  the  hour 

That  saw  the  heavens  created :  then  declare 

If  aught  were  found  in  those  external  scenes 

To  move  thy  wonder  now.     For  what  are  all 

The  forms  which  brute,  unconscious  matter  wears, 

Greatness  of  bulk,  or  symmetry  of  parts  ? 

Not  reaching  to  the  heart,  soon  feeble  grows 

The  superficial  impulse ;  dull  their  charms,          eso 

And  satiate  soon,  and  pall  the  languid  eye. 

Not  so  the  moral  species,  nor  the  powers 

Of  genius  and  design ;  the  ambitious  mind 

There  sees  herself:  by  these  congenial  forms 

Touch'd  and  awaken'd,  with  intenser  act 

She  bends  each  nerve,  and  meditates  well  pleas'd 

Her  features  in  the  mirror.     For  of  all 

The  inhabitants  of  earth,  to  man  alone 

Creative  Wisdom  gave  to  lift  his  eye 

To  Truth's  eternal  measures ;  thence  to  frame    «o 

The  sacred  laws  of  action  and  of  will, 

Discerning  justice  from  unequal  deeds, 

And  temperance  from  folly.     But  beyond 

This  energy  of  Truth,  whose  dictates  bind 

Assenting  reason,  the  benignant  Sire, 

To  deck  the  honour'd  paths  of  just  and 

Has  added  bright  Imagination's  rays  : 

Where  Virtue,  rising  from  the  awful  depth 

Of  Truth's  mysterious  bosom,  doth  forsake 

The  unadorn'd  condition  of  her  birth ; 


\ 


138  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

And,  dress'd  by  Fancy  in  ten  thousand  hues, 

Assumes  a  various  feature,  to  attract, 

With  charms  responsive  to  each  gazer's  eye, 

The  hearts  of  men.     Amid  his  rural  walk, 

The  ingenuous  youth,  whom  solitude  inspires 

With  purest  wishes,  from  the  pensive  shade 

Beholds  her  moving,  like  a  virgin  muse 

That  wakes  her  lyre  to  some  indulgent  theme 

Of  harmony  and  wonder;  while  among 

The  herd  of  servile  minds,  her  strenuous  form    ME 

Indignant  flashes  on  the  patriot's  eye, 

And  through  the  rolls  of  memory  appeals 

To  ancient  honour,  or  in  act  serene, 

Yet  watchful,  raises  the  majestic  sword 

Of  public  Power,  from  dark  Ambition's  reach 

To  guard  the  sacred  volume  of  the  laws. 

Genius  of  ancient  Greece !  whose  faithful  steps 
Well  pleas'd  I  follow  through  the  sacred  paths 
Of  Nature  and  of  Science  ;  nurse  divine 
Of  all  heroic  deeds  and  fair  desires  !  STQ 

O !  let  the  breath  of  thy  extended  praise 
Inspire  my  kindling  bosom  to  the  height 
Of  this  untempted  theme.     Nor  be  my  thoughts 
Presumptuous  counted,  if,  amid  the  calm 
That  soothes  this  vernal  evening  into  smiles, 
I  steal  impatient  from  the  sordid  haunts 
Of  Strife  and  low  Ambition,  to  attend 
Thy  sacred  presence  in  the  sylvan  shade, 
By  their  malignant  footsteps  ne'er  profan'd. 
Descend  propitious  !  to  my  favour'd  eye ;  ao 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  139 

Such  in  thy  mien,  thy  warm,  exalted  air, 

As  when  the  Persian  tyrant,  foil'd  and  stung 

With  shame  and  desperation,  gnash'd  his  teeth 

To  see  thee  rend  the  pageants  of  his  throne ; 

And  at  the  lightning  of  thy  lifted  spear 

Crouch'd  like  a  slave.     Bring  all  thy  martial  spoils, 

Thy  palms,  thy  laurels,  thy  triumphal  songs, 

Thy  smiling  band  of  art,  thy  godlike  sires 

Of  civil  wisdom,  thy  heroic  youth  589 

Warm  from  the  schools  of  glory.     Guide  my  way 

Through  fair  Lyceum's  walk,  the  green  retreats 

Of  Academus,  and  the  thymy  vale, 

Where  oft  enchanted  with  Socratic  sounds, 

Ilissus  pure  devolv'd  his  tuneful  stream 

In  gentler  murmurs.     From  the  blooming  store 

Of  these  auspicious  fields,  may  I  unblam'd 

Transplant  some  living  blossoms  to  adorn 

My  native  clime :  while,  far  above  the  flight 

Of  Fancy's  plume  aspiring,  I  unlock 

The  springs  of  ancient  wisdom ;  while  I  join      coo 

Thy  name,  thrice  honour'd  !  with  the  immortal  praise 

Of  Nature ;  while  to  my  compatriot  youth 

I  point  the  high  example  of  thy  sons, 

And  tune  to  Attic  themes  the  British  lyre. 


140  THE    PLEASURES    OF 


BOOK    II. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE  separation  of  the  works  of  imagination  from  philosophy,  the  cause 
of  their  abuse  among  the  moderns.  Prospect  of  their  re-union 
under  the  influence  of  public  liberty.  Enumeration  of  accidental 
pleasures,  which  increase  the  effect  of  objects  delightful  to  the 
imagination.  The  pleasures  of  sense.  Particular  circumstances  of 
the  mind.  Discovery  of  truth.  Perception  of  contrivance  and  de 
sign.  Emotion  of  the  passions.  All  the  natural  passions  partake 
of  a  pleasing  sensation ;  with  the  final  cause  of  this  constitution 
illustrated  by  an  allegorical  vision,  and  exemplified  in  sorrow,  pity, 
terror,  and  indignation. 

WHEN  shall  the  laurel  and  the  vocal  string 
Resume  their  honours  ?     When  shall  we  behold 
The  tuneful  tongue,  the  Promethean  hand 
Aspire  to  ancient  praise  ?     Alas  !  how  faint, 
How  slow  the  dawn  of  Beauty  and  of  Truth 
Breaks  the  reluctant  shades  of  Gothic  night 
Which  yet  involve  the  nations !  Long  they  groan*  d 
Beneath  the  furies  of  rapacious  force, 
Oft  as  the  gloomy  north,  with  iron  swarms 
Tempestuous  pouring  from  her  frozen  caves,        10 
Blasted  the  Italian  shore,  and  swept  the  works 
Of  Liberty  and  Wisdom  down  the  gulph 
Of  all-devouring  night.     As  long  immur'd 
In  noontide  darkness  by  the  glimmering  lamp, 
Each  Muse  and  each  fair  Science  pin'd  away 
The  sordid  hours;  while  foul,  barbarian  hands 
Their  mysteries  profan'd,  unstrung  the  lyre, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  141 

And  chain'd  the  soaring  pinion  down  to  earth. 

At  last  the  Muses  rose,  and  spurn'd  their  bonds, 

And,  wildly  warbling,  scatter'd,  as  they  flew,        ao 

Their  blooming  wreaths  from  fair  Valclusa's  bowers 

To  Arno's  myrtle  border  and  the  shore 

Of  soft  Parthenope.     But  still  the  rage 

Of  dire  ambition  and  gigantic  power, 

From  public  aims  and  from  the  busy  walk 

Of  civil  commerce,  drove  the  bolder  train 

Of  penetrating  Science  to  the  cells, 

Where  studious  Ease  consumes  the  silent  hour 

In  shadowy  searches  and  unfruitful  care. 

Thus  from  their  guardians  torn,  the  tender  arts   « 

Of  mimic  fancy  and  harmonious  joy, 

To  priestly  domination  and  the  lust 

Of  lawless  courts,  their  amiable  toil 

For  three  inglorious  ages  have  resign'd, 

In  vain  reluctant ;  and  Torquato's  tongue 

"Was  tun'd  for  slavish  paeans  at  the  throne 

Of  tinsel  pomp  ;  and  Raphael's  magic  hand 

Effus'd  its  fair  creation  to  enchant 

The  fond  adoring  herd  in  Latian  fanes 

To  blind  belief;  while  on  their  prostrate  necks       « 

The  sable  tyrant  plants  his  heel  secure. 

But  now,  behold !  the  radiant  era  dawns, 

When  freedom's  ample  fabric,  fix'd  at  length 

For  endless  years  on  Albion's  happy  shore 

In  full  proportion,  once  more  shall  extend 

To  all  the  kindred  powers  of  social  bliss 

A  common  mansion,  a  parental  roof. 


142  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

There  shall  the  Virtues,  there  shall  Wisdom's  train, 

Their  long-lost  friends  rejoining,  as  of  old, 

Embrace  the  smiling  family  of  Arts,  co 

The  Muses  and  the  Graces.     Then  no  more 

Shall  Vice,  distracting  their  delicious  gifts 

To  aims  abhorr'd,  with  high  distaste  and  scorn 

Turn  from  their  charms  the  philosophic  eye, 

The  patriot  bosom ;  then  no  more  the  paths 

Of  public  care  or  intellectual  toil, 

Alone  by  footsteps  haughty  and  severe 

In  gloomy  state  be  trod  :  the  harmonious  Muse 

And  her  persuasive  sisters  then  shall  plant 

Their  sheltering  laurels  o'er  the  bleak  ascent,      eo 

And  scatter  flowers  along  the  rugged  way. 

Arm'd  with  the  lyre,  already  have  we  dar'd 

To  pierce  divine  Philosophy's  retreats, 

And  teach  the  Muse  her  lore ;  already  strove 

Their  long-divided  honours  to  unite, 

While  tempering  this  deep  argument  we  sang 

Of  Truth  and  Beauty.     Now  the  same  glad  task 

Impends  ;  now  urging  our  ambitious  toil, 

We  hasten  to  recount  the  various  springs 

Of  adventitious  pleasure,  which  adjoin  n 

Their  grateful  influence  to  the  prime  effect 

Of  objects  grand  or  beauteous,  and  enlarge 

The  complicated  joy.     The  sweets  of  sense,    . 

Do  they  not  oft  with  kind  accession  flow, 

To  raise  harmonious  Fancy's  native  charm  ? 

So  while  we  taste  the  fragrance  of  the  rose, 

Glows  not  her  blush  the  fairer  ?     While  we  view 


IMAGINATION.       BOOK    II.  143 

Amid  the  noontide  walk  a  limpid  rill 
Gush  through  the  trickling  herbage,  to  the  thirst 
Of  summer  yielding  the  delieious  draught  so 

Of  cool  refreshment ;  o'er  the  mossy  brink 
Shines  not  the  surface  clearer,  and  the  waves 
With  sweeter  music  murmur  as  they  flow  ? 

Nor  this  alone :  the  various  lot  of  life 
Oft  from  external  circumstance  assumes 
A  moment's  disposition  to  rejoice 
In  those  delights  which  at  a  different  hour 
Would  pass  unheeded.     Fair  the  face  of  Spring,  ps 
When  rural  songs  and  odours  wake  the  morn, 
To  every  eye ;  but  how  much  more  to  his  90 

Round  whom  the  bed  of  sickness  long  diffus'd 
Its  melancholy  gloom  !  how  doubly  fair, 
When  first  with  fresh-born  vigour  he  inhales 
The  balmy  breeze,  and  feels  the  blessed  sun 
Warm  at  his  bosom,  from  the  springs  of  life 
Chasing  oppressive  damps  and  languid  pain ! 

Or  shall  I  mention,  where  celestial  Truth 
Her  awful  light  discloses,  to  bestow 
A  more  majestic  pomp  on  Beauty's  frame ? 
For  man  loves  knowledge,  and  the  beams  of  Truth 
More  welcome  touch  his  understanding's  eye,      101 
Than  all  the  blandishments  of  sound  his  ear, 
Than  all  of  taste  his  tongue.     Nor  ever  yet 
The  melting  rainbow's  vernal-tinctur'd  hues 
To  me  have  shown  so  pleasing,  as  when  first 
The  hand  of  Science  pointed  out  the  path 
In  which  the  sunbeams  gleaming  from  the  west" 


144  THE   PLEASURES    OI 

Fall  on  the  watery  cloud,  whose  darksome  veil 
Involves  the  orient;  and  that  trickling  shower 
Piercing  through  every  crystalline  convex  110 

Of  clustering  dewdrops  to  their  flight  oppos'd, 
Recoil  at  length  where  concave  all  behind 
The  internal  surface  of  each  glassy  orb 
Repels  their  forward  passage  into  air ; 
That  thence  direct  they  seek  the  radiant  goal 
From  which  their  course  began ;  and  as  they  strike 
In  different  lines  the  gazer's  obvious  eye,          , 
Assume  a  different  lustre,  through  the  brede     \S 
Of  colours  changing  from  the  splendid  rose 
To  the  pale  violet's  dejected  hue.  120 

Or  shall  we  touch  that  kind  access  of  joy, 
That  springs  to  each  fair  obje(.t,  while  we  trace, 
Through  all  its  fabric,  Wisdom's  artful  aim 
Disposing  every  part,  and  gaining  still 
By  means  proportion'd  her  benignant  end  ? 
Speak  ye  the  pure  delight,  whose  favour'd  steps 
The  lamp  of  Science  through  the  jealous  maze 
Of  Nature  guides,  when  haply  you  reveal 
Her  secret  honours ;  whether  in  the  sky, 
The  beauteous  laws  of  light,  the  central  powers 
That  wheel  the  pensile  planets  round  the  year  j 
Whether  in  wonders  of  the  rolling  deep,  132 

Or  the  rich  fruits  of  all-sustaining  earth, 
Or  fine-adjusted  springs  of  life  and  sense, 
Ye  scan  the  counsels  of  their  Author's  hand. 

What,  when  to  raise  the  meditated  scene, 
The  flame  of  passion,  through  the  struggling  soul 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  145 

Deep-kindled,  shows  across  that  sudden  blaze 

The  object  of  its  rapture,  vast  of  size, 

With  fiercer  colours  and  a  night  of  shade  ?          HO 

What  ?  like  a  storm  from  their  capacious  bed 

The  sounding  seas  o'erwhelming,  when  the  might 

Of  these  eruptions,  working  from  the  depth 

Of  man's  strong  apprehension,  shakes  his  frame 

Even  to  the  base ;  from  every  naked  sense 

Of  pain  or  pleasure  dissipating  all 

Opinion's  feeble  coverings,  and  the  veil 

Spun  from  the  cobweb  fashion  of  the  times 

To  hide  the  feeling  heart  ?     Then  Nature  speaks 

Her  genuine  language,  and  the  words  of  men,    no 

Big  with  the  very  motion  of  their  souls, 

Declare  with  what  accumulated  force, 

The  impetuous  nerve  of  passion  urges  on 

The  native  weight  and  energy  of  things. 

Yet  more :  her  honours  where  nor  Beauty  claims, 
Nor  shows  of  good  the  thirsty  sense  allure, 
From  passion's  power  alone  our  nature  holds 
Essential  pleasure.     Passion's  fierce  illapse 
Rouses  the  mind's  whole  fabric ;  with  supplies 
Of  daily  impulse  keeps  the  elastic  powers  iso 

Intensely  pois'd,  and  polishes  anew 
By  that  collision  all  the  fine  machine : 
Else  rust  would  rise,  and  foulness,  by  degrees 
Incumbering,  choke  at  last  what  Heaven  design'd 
For  ceaseless  motion  and  a  round  of  toil. 
—  But  say,  does  every  passion  thus  to  man 
Administer  delight  ?     That  name  indeed 


146  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Becomes  the  rosy  breath  of  love ;  becomes 

The  radiant  smiles  of  joy,  the  applauding  hand 

Of  admiration :  but  the  bitter  shower  iro 

That  sorrow  sheds  upon  a  brother's  grave ; 

But  the  dumb  palsy  of  nocturnal  fear, 

Or  those  consuming  fires  that  gnaw  the  heart 

Of  panting  indignation,  find  we  there 

To  move  delight  ?  —  Then  listen  while  my  tongue 

The  unalter'd  will  of  Heaven  with  faithful  awe 

Reveals ;  what  old  Harmodius  wont  to  teach 

My  early  age ;  Harmodius,  who  had  weigh'd 

Within  his  learned  mind  whate'er  the  schools 

Of  Wisdom,  or  thy  lonely-whispering  voice,        iso 

O  faithful  Nature  !  dictate  of  the  laws 

Which  govern  and  support  this  mighty  frame 

Of  universal  being.     Oft  the  hours 

From  morn  to  eve  have  stolen  unmark'd  away, 

While  mute  attention  hung  upon  his  lips, 

As  thus  the  sage  his  awful  tale  began : 

"  'Twas  in  the  windings  of  an  ancient  wood, 
When  spotless  youth  with  solitude  resigns 
To  sweet  philosophy  the  studious  day, 
What  time  pale  Autumn  shades  the  silent  eve,    190 
Musing  I  rov'd.     Of  good  and  evil  much, 
And  much  of  mortal  man  my  thought  revolv'd, ; 
When  starting  full  on  fancy's  gushing  eye 
The  mournful  image  of  Parthenia's  fate, 
That  hour,  0  long  belov'd  and  long  deplor'd ! 
When  blooming  youth,  nor  gentlest  wisdom's  arts, 
Nor  Hymen's  honours  gather'd  for  thy  brow, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    II.  147 

Nor  all  thy  lover's,  all  thy  father's  tears 
Avail'd  to  snatch  thee  from  the  cruel  grave; 
Thy  agonizing  looks,  thy  last  farewell,  200 

Struck  to  the  inmost  feeling  of  my  soul 
As  with  the  hand  of  Death.     At  once  the  shade 
More  horrid  nodded  o'er  me,  and  the  winds 
With  hoarser  murmuring  shook  the  branches.  Dark 
As  midnight  storms,  the  scene  of  human  things 
Appear'd  before  me ;  deserts,  burning  sands, 
Where  the  parch'd  adder  dies ;  the  frozen  south, 
And  desolation  blasting  all  the  west 
With  rapine  and  with  murder :  tyrant  power 
Here  sits  enthron'd  with  blood ;  the  baleful  charms 
Of  superstition  there  infect  the  skies,  211 

And  turn  the  sun  to  horror.     Gracious  Heaven ! 
What  is  the  life  of  man  ?     Or  cannot  these, 
Not  these  portents  thy  awful  will  suffice  ? 
That,  propagated  thus  beyond  their  scope, 
They  rise  to  act  their  cruelties  anew 
In  my  afflicted  bosom,  thus  decreed 
The  universal  sensitive  of  pain, 
The  wretched  heir  of  evils  not  its  own  ! " 

Thus  I  impatient ;  when,  at  once  effus'd,          220 


\  A  flashing  torrent  of  celestial  day 
\  Burst  through  the  shadowy  void.  TV 


i  Burst  through  the  shadowy  void.  With  slow  descent 
A  purjjlecloud  came  floating  through  the  sky, 
And  pois'd  at  length  within  the  circling  trees, 
Hung  obvious  to  my  view;  till  opening  wide 
Its  lucid  orb,  a  more  than  human  form 
Emerging  lean'd  majestic  o'er  my  head, 


148  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

And  instant  thunder  shook  the  conscious  grove. 
Then  melted  into  air  the  Jj&uid.  cloud, 
And  all  the  shining  vision  stood  reveal'd.  230 

A  wreath  of  palm  his  ample  forehead  bound, 
And  o'er  his  shoulder,  mantling  to  his  knee, 
Flow'd  the  transparent  robe,  around  his  waist 
Collected  with  a  radiant  zone  of  gold 
^Ethereal :  there  in  mystic  signs  engrav'd, 
I  read  his  office  high  and  sacred  name, 
Genius  of  human  kind !     Appall'd  I  gaz'd 
The  godlike  presence ;  for  athwart  his  brow 
Displeasure,  temper'd  with  a  mild  concern, 
Look'd  d.own  reluctant  on  me,  and  his  words       240 
Like  distant  thunders  broke  the  murmuring  air. 

"  Vain  are  thy  thoughts,  0  child  of  mortal  birth ! 
And  impotent  thy  tongue.     Is  thy  short  span 
Capacious  of  this  universal  frame  ? 
Thy  wisdom  all  sufficient  ?     Thou,  alas ! 
Dost  thou  aspire  to  judge  between  the  Lord 
Of  Nature  and  his  works  ?  to  lift  thy  voice 
Against  the  sovereign  order  he  decreed, 
All  good  and  lovely  ?  to  blaspheme  the  bands 
Of  tenderness  innate  and  social  love,  250 

Holiest  of  things  !  by  which  the  general  orb 
Of  being,  as  by  adamantine  links, 
"Was  drawn  to  perfect  union  and  sustain'd 
From  everlasting?     Hast  thou  felt  the  pangs 
Of  softening  sorrow,  of  indignant  zeal 
So  grievous  to  the  soul,  as  thence  to  wish 
The  ties  of  Nature  broken  from  thy  frame ; 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  149 

That  so  thy  selfish,  unrelenting  heart 
Might  cease  to  mourn  its  lot,  no  longer  then 
The  wretched  heir  of  evils  not  its  own  ?  wo 

0  fair  benevolence  of  generous  minds ! 

0  man  by  Nature  form'd  for  all  mankind  ! " 
He  spoke :  abash'd  and  silent  I  remain'd, 

As  conscious  of  my  tongue's  offence,  and  aw'd 
Before  his  presence,  though  my  secret  soul 
Disdain'd  the  imputation.     On  the  ground 

1  fix'd  my  eyes  ;  till  from  his  airy  couch 

He  stoop'd  sublime,  and  touching  with  his  hand 
My  dazzling  forehead,  "  Raise  thy  sight,"  he  cried, 
"  And  let  thy  sense  convince  thy  erring  tongue." 

I  look'd,  and  lo !  the  former  scene  was  chang'd ; 
For  verdant  alleys  and  surrounding  trees, 
A  solitary  prospect,  wide  and  wild, 
llush'd  on  my  senses.     'Twas  a  horrid  pile 
|  Of  hills  with  many  a  shaggy  forest  mix'd, 
With  many  a  sable  cliff  and  glittering  stream. 
Aloft  recumbent  o'er  the  hanging  ridge, 
The   brown   woods   wav'd ;    while    ever-trickling 

springs 

Wash'd  from  the  naked  roots  of  oak  and  pine 
The  crumbling  soil;  and  still  at  every  fall  280 

Down  the  steep  windings  of  the  channel'd  rock, 
Remurmuring  rush'd  the  congregated  floods 
With  hoarser  inundation  ;  till  at  last 
They  reach'd  a  grassy  plain,  which  from  the  skirts 
Of  that  high  desert  spread  her  verdant  lap, 
And  drank  the  gushing  moisture,  where,  confin'd 


150  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

In  one  smooth  current,  o'er  the  lilied  vale 
Clearer  than  glass  it  flow'd.     Autumnal  spoils 
Luxuriant  spreading  to  the  rays  of  morn, 
Blush'd  o'er  the  cliffs,  whose  half-encircling  mound 
As  in  a  sylvan  theatre  enclos'd  sa1 

That  flowery  level.     On  the  river's  brink 
I  spied  a  fair  pavilion,  which  diffus'd 
Its  floating  umbrage  'mid  the  silver  shade 
Of  osiers.     Now  the  western  sun  reveal'd 
Between  two  parting  cliffs  his  golden  orb, 
And  pour'd  across  the  shadow  of  the  hills, 
On  rocks  and  floods,  a  yellow  stream  of  light 
That   cheer'd   the    solemn   scene.     My   listening 

powers 

Were  aw'd,  and  every  thought  in  silence  hung,  soo 
And  wondering  expectation.     Then  the  voice 
Of  that  celestial  power,  the  mystic  show 
Declaring,  thus  my  deep  attention  call'd : 
"  Inhabitant  of  earth,  to  whom  is  given 
The  gracious  ways  of  Providence  to  learn, 
Receive  my  sayings  with  a  steadfast  ear:  — 
Know  then,  the  Sovereign  Spirit  of  the  world, 
Though,  self-collected  from  eternal  time, 
Within  his  own  deep  essence  he  beheld 
The  bounds  of  true  felicity  complete;  sw 

Yet,  by  immense  benignity  inclin'd 
To  spread  around  him  that  primeval  joy 
Which  fill'd  himself,  he  rais'd  his  plastic  arm, 
And  sounded  through  the  hollow  depths  of  space 
The  strong,  creative  mandate.     Straight  arose 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  151 

These  heavenly  orbs,  the  glad  abodes  of  life, 

Effusive  kindled  by  his  breath  divine 

Through  endless  forms  of  being.     Each  inhal'd 

From  him  its  portion  of  the  vital  flame, 

In  measure  such,  that,  from  the  wide  complex     azo 

Of  coexistent  orders,  one  might  rise, 

One  order,  all-involving  and  entire. 

He  too  beholding  in  the  sacred  light; 

Of  his  essential  reason,  all  the  shapes 

Of  swift  contingence,  all  successive  'ties 

Of  action  propagated  through  the/sum 

Of  possible  existence,  he  at  once,  • 

Down  the  long  series  of  eventful  dime, 

So  fix'd  the  dates  of  being,  so  dispos'd 

To  every  living  soul  of  every  kind  sso 

The  field  of  motion  and  the  hour  of  rest, 

That  all  conspir'd  to  his  supreme  design, 

To  universal  good :  with  full  accord 

Answering  the  mighty  model  he  had  chose, 

The  best  and  fairest  of  unnumber'd  worlds 

That  lay  from  everlasting  in  the  store 

Of  his  divine  conceptions.     Nor  content, 

By  one  exertion  of  creative  power 

His  goodness  to  reveal;  through  every  age, 

Through  every  moment  up  the  tract  of  time,       3*> 

His  parent  hand  with  ever  new  increase 

Of  happiness  and  virtue  has  adorn'd 

The  vast  harmonious  frame :  his  parent  hand, 

From  the  mute  shell-fish  gasping  on  the  shore, 

To  men,  to  angels,  to  celestial  minds 


152  *  THE    PLEASURES    OP 

For  ever  leads  the  generations  on 
To  higher  scenes  of  being ;  while,  supplied 
From  day  to  day  with  his  enlivening  breath, 
Inferior  orders  in  succession  rise 
To  fill  the  void  below.     As  flame  ascends,  sso 

As  bodies  to  their  proper  centre  move, 
As  the  pois'd  ocean  to  the  attracting  moon 
Obedient  swells,  and  every  htadlong  stream . 
Devolves  its  winding  waters  to  the  main ; 
So  all  things  which  have  life  aspire  to  God, 
The  sun  of  being,  boundless,  unimpair'd, 
Centre  of  souls  !     Nor  does  the  faithful  voice 
Of  Nature  cease  to  prompt  their  eager  steps 
Aright ;  nor  is  the  care  of  Heaven  withheld 
From  granting  to  the  task  proportion'd  aid ;        seo 
That  in  their  stations  all  may  persevere 
To  climb  the  ascent  of  being,  and  approach 
For  ever  nearer  to  the  life  divine. 

"  That  rocky  pile  thou  seest,  that  verdant  lawn 
Fresh-water'd  from  the  mountains.    Let  the  scene 
Paint  in  thy  fancy  the  primeval  seat 
Of  man,  and  where  the  Will  Supreme  ordain'd 
His  mansion,  that  pavilion  fair-diffus'd 
Along  the  shady  brink  ;  in  this  recess 
To  wear  the  appointed  season  of  his  youth,          370 
Till  riper  hours  should  open  to  his  toil 
The  high  communion  of  superior  minds, 
Of  consecrated  heroes  and  of  gods. 
Nor  did  the  Sire  Omnipotent  forget 
His  tender  bloom  to  cherish ;  nor  withheld 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    II.  153 

Celestial  footsteps,  from  his  green  abode. 
Oft  from  the  radiant  honours  of  his  throne, 
He  sent  whom  most  he  lov'd,  the  sovereign  fair, 
The  effluence  of  his  glory,  whom  he  plac'd 
Before  his  eyes  for  ever  to  behold  ;  sso 

The. 'goddess  from  whose  inspiration  flows 
The  toil  of  patriots,  the  delight  of  friends ; 
Without  whose  work  divine,  in  heaven  or  earth, 
Nought  lovely,  nought  propitious  comes  to  pass, 
Nor  hope  nor  praise  nor  honour.     Her  the  Sire 
Gave  it  in  charge  to  rear  the  blooming  mind, 
The  folded  powers  to  open,  to  direct 
The  growth  luxuriant  of  his  young  desires, 
And  from  the  laws  of  this  majestic  world 
To  teach  him  what  was  good.    As  thus  the  nymph 
Her  daily  care  attended,  by  her  side  391 

"With  constant  steps  her  gay  companion  stay'd, 
The  fair  Euphrosyne,  the  gentle  queen 
Of  smiles,  and  graceful  gladness,  and  delights 
That  cheer  alike  the  hearts  of  mortal  men 
And  powers  immortal.     See  the  shining  pair ! 
Behold,  where  from  his  dwelling  now  disclos'd 
They  quit  their  youthful  charge  and  seek  the  skies." 

I  look'd,  and  on  the  flowery  turf  there  stood, 
Between  two  radiant  forms,  a  smiling  youth         400 
Whose  tender  cheeks  display'd  the  vernal  flower 
Of  beauty  ;  sweetest  innocence  illurn'd 
His  bashful  eyes,  and  on  his  polish'd  brow 
Sate  young  simplicity.     With  fond  regard, 
He  view'd  the  associates,  as  their  steps  they  mov'd ; 


154  THE   PLEASURES    OP 

The  younger  chief  his  ardent  eves  detain'd, 
With  mild  regret  invoking  her  return. 

(Bright  as  the  star  of  evening  she  appear'd 
Amid  the  dusky  scene.     Eternal  youth 
O'er  all  her  form  its  glowing  honours  breath'd ; 
And  smiles  eternal  from  her  candid  eyes  «i 

Flow'd,  like  the  dewy  lustre  of  the  morn 
Effusive  trembling  on  the  placid  waves. 
\  The  spring  of  heaven  had  shed  its  blushing  spoils 
I  To  bind  her  sable  tresses ;  full  diffus'd, 
Her  yellow  mantle  floated  in  the  breeze ; 
And  in  her  hand  she  wav'd  a  living  branch 
Rich  with  immortal  fruits,  of  power  to  calm 
The  wrathful  heart,  and  from  the  brightening  eyes 
To  chase  the  cloud  of  sadness.     More  sublime    420 
The  heavenly  partner  mov'd.     The  prime  of  age 
Compos'd  her  steps.     The  presence  of  a  god, 
High  on  the  circle  of  her  brow  cnthron'd, 
From  each  majestic  motion  darted  awe, 
Devoted  awe  !  till,  cherish'd  by  her  looks 
Benevolent  and  meek,  confiding  love 
To  filial  rapture  soften'd  all  the  soul. 
Free  in  her  graceful  hand  she  pois'd  the  sword 
Of  chaste  dominion.     An  heroic  crown 
Display'd  the  old  simplicity  of  pomp 
Around  her  honour'd  head.     A  matron's  robe, 
White  as  the  sunshine  streams  thro'  vernal  clouds, 
Her  stately  form  invested.     Hand  in  hand 
The  immortal  pair  forsook  the  enamel'd  green, 
Ascending  slowly.     Rays  of  limpid  light 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  155 

Gleam'd  round  their  path ;  celestial  sounds  were 

heard, 

And  through  the  fragrant  air  ethereal  dews 
Distill'd  around  them ;  till  at  once  the  clouds, 
Disparting  wide  in  midway  sky,  withdrew 
Their  airy  veil,  and  left  a  bright  expanse  uo 

Of  empyrean  flame,  where,  spent  and  drown'd, 
Afflicted  vision  plung'd  in  vain  to  scan 
What  object  it  involv'd.     My  feeble  eyes 
Endur'd  not.     Bending  down  to  earth  I  stood, 
With  dumb  attention.     Soon  a  female  voice, 
As  watery  murmurs  sweet,  or  warbling  shades, 
With  sacred  invocation  thus  began : 

"  Father  of  gods  and  mortals !  whose  right  arm 
With  reins  eternal  guides  the  moving  heavens, 
Bend  thy  propitious  ear.     Behold  well  pleas'd    «o 
I  seek  to  finish  thy  divine  decree. 
With  frequent  steps  I  visit  yonder  seat 
Of  man,  thy  offspring ;  from  the  tender  seeds 
Of  justice  and  of  wisdom,  to  evolve 
The  latent  honours  of  his  generous  frame; 
Till  thy  conducting  hand  shall  raise  his  lot 
From  earth's  dim  scene  to  these  ethereal  walks, 
The  temple  of  thy  glory.     But  not  me, 
Not  my  directing  voice  he  oft  requires, 
Or  hears  delighted;  this  enchanting  maid,  460 

The  associate  thou  hast  given  me,  her  alone 
He  loves,  O  Father !  absent,  her  he  craves ; 
And  but  for  her  glad  presence  ever  joined, 
Rejoices  not  in  mine ;  that  all  my  hopes 


156  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

This  thy  benignant  purpose  to  fulfil, 
I  deem  uncertain ;  and  my  daily  cares 
Unfruitful  all  and  vain,  unless  by  thee 
Still  farther  aided  in  the  work  divine." 

She  ceas'd :  a  voice  more  awful  thus  replied : 
"  O  thou !  in  whom  for  ever  I  delight,  *m 

Fairer  than  all  the  inhabitants  of  heaven, 
Best  image  of  thy  Author !  far  from  thee 
Be  disappointment  or  distaste  or  blame ; 
Who  soon  or  late  shalt  every  work  fulfil, 
And  no  resistance  find.     If  man  refuse 
To  hearken  to  thy  dictates ;  or,  allur'd 
By  meaner  joys,  to  any  other  power 
Transfer  the  honors  due  to  thee  alone ; 
That  joy  which  he  pursues  he  ne'er  shall  taste, 
That  power  in  whom  delighteth  ne'er  behold.      4ao 
Go  then,  once  more,  and  happy  be  thy  toil : 
Go  then !  but  let  not  this  thy  smiling  friend 
Partake  thy  footsteps.     In  her  stead,  behold ! 
With  thee  the  son  of  Nemesis  I  send ; 
The  fiend  abhorr'd !  whose  vengeance  takes  account 
Of  sacred  order's  violated  laws. 
See  where  he  calls  thee,  burning  to  be  gone, 
Fierce  to  exhaust  the  ^empest  of  his  wrath 
On  yon  devoted  head.     But  thou,  my  child, 
Control  his  cruel  frenzy,  and  protect  «o 

Thy  tender  charge ;  that,  when  despair  shall  grasp 
His  agonizing  bosom,  he  may  learn, 
Then  he  may  learn  to  love  the  gracious  hand 
Alone  sufficient  in  the  hour  of  ill 


\ 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    II.  157 

To  save  his  feeble  spirit ;  then  confess 
Thy  genuine  honours,  0  excelling  fair ! 
When  all  the  plagues  that  wait  the  deadly  will 
Of  this  avenging  demon,  all  the  storms    \ 
Of  night  infernal,  serve  but  to  display  ^ 

The  energy  of  thy  superior  charms  \      MO 

"With  mildest  awe  triumphant  o'er  his  rage,     \ 
And  shining  clearer  in  the  horrid  gloom." 

Here  ceas'd  that  awful  voice ;  and  soon  I  felt 
The  cloudy  curtain  of  refreshing  eve 
Was  clos'd  once  more,  from  that  immortal  fire 
Sheltering  my  eye-lids.     Looking  up,  I  view'd 
A  vast,  gigantic  spectre  striding  on 
Thro'  murmuring  thunders  and  a  waste  of  clouds, 
With  dreadful  action.     Black  as  night,  his  brow 
Relentless  frowns  involv'd.     His  savage  limbs    «io 
With  sharp  impatience  violent  he  writh'd, 
As,  through  convulsive  anguish ;  and  his  hand, 
Arm'd  with  a  scorpion  lash,  full  oft  he  rais'd 
In  madness  to  his  bosom ;  while  his  eyes 
Rain'd  bitter  tears,  and  bellowing  loud  he  shook 
The  void  with  horror.     Silent  by  his  side 
The  virgin  came.     No  discomposure  stirr'd 
Her  features.  From  the  glooms  which  hung  around, 
No  stain  of  darkness  mingled  with  the  beam 
Of  her  divine  effulgence.     Now  they  stoop         «» 
Upon  the  river  bank ;  and  now  to  hail 
His  wonted  guests,  with  eager  steps  advanc'd 
The  unsuspecting  inmate  of  the  shade. 

As  when  a  famish'd  wolf,  that  all  night  long 


158  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Had  rang'd  the  Alpine  snows,  by  chance  at  morn 
Sees  from  a  cliff,  incumbent  o'er  the  smoke 
Of  some  lone  village,  a  neglected  kid 
That  strays  along  the  wild  for  herb  or  spring ; 
Down  from  the  winding  ridge  he  sweeps  amain, 
And  thinks  he  tears  him :  so,  with  tenfold  rage,  sso 
The  monster  sprung  remorseless  on  his  prey. 
Amaz'd  the  stripling  stood :  with  panting  breast 
Feebly  he  pour'd  the  lamentable  wail 
Of  helpless  consternation,  struck  at  once, 
And  rooted  to  the  ground.     The  Queen  beheld 
His  terror,  and  with  looks  of  tenderest  care 
Advanc'd  to  save  him.     Soon  the  tyrant  felt 
Her  awful  power.     His  keen,  tempestuous  arm 
Hung  nerveless,  nor  descended  where  his  rage 
Had  aim'd  the  deadly  blow ;  then  dumb  retir'd  MO 
With  sullen  rancour.     Lo  !  the  sovereign  maid 
Folds  with  a  mother's  arms  the  fainting  boy, 
Till  life  rekindles  in  his  rosy  cheek ;          [tongue : 
Then  grasps  his  hands,  and  cheers  him  vilh  her 
"  O  wake  thee,  rouse  thy  spirit !    Shall  the  spite 
Of  yon  tormentor  thus  appal  thy  heart, 
While  I,  thy  friend  and  guardian,  am  at  hand 
To  rescue  and  to  heal  ?     O  let  thy  soul 
Remember,  what  the  will  of  Heaven  ordains 
Js  ever  good  for  all ;  and  if  for  all,  «o 

Then  good  for  thee.     Nor  only  by  the  warmth 
And  soothing  sunshine  of  delightful  things, 
Do  minds  grow  up  and  flourish.     Oft  misled 
By  that  bland  light,  the  young,  unpractis'd  views 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  159 

Of  reason  wander  through  a  fatal  road, 

Far  from  their  native  aim ;  as  if  to  lie 

Inglorious  in  the  fragrant  shade,  and  wait 

The  soft  access  of  ever-circling  joys, 

Were  all  the  end  of  being.     Ask  thyself, 

This  pleasing  error  did  it  never  lull  «» 

Thy  wishes  ?     Has  thy  constant  heart  refus'd 

The  silken  fetters  of  delicious  ease  ? 

Or  when  divine  Euphrosyne  appear'd 

Within  this  dwelling,  did  not  thy  desires 

Hang  far  below  the  measure  of  thy  fate, 

Which  I  reveal'd  before  thee  ?  and  thy  eyes, 

Impatient  of  my  counsels,  turn  away 

To  drink  the  soft  effusion  of  her  smiles  ? 

Know  then,  for  this  the  everlasting  Sire 

Deprives  thee  of  her  presence,  and  instead,         wo 

0  wise  and  still  benevolent !  ordains 

This  horrid  visage  hither  to  pursue 

My  steps ;  that  so  thy  nature  may  discern 

Its  real  ^od,  and  what  alone  can  save 

Thy  feeble  spirit  in  this  hour  of  ill 

From  folly  and  despair.     O  yet  belov'd ! 

Let  not  this  headlong  terror  quite  o'erwhelm 

Thy  scatter'd  powers ;  nor  fatal  deem  the  rage 

Of  this  tormentor,  nor  his  proud  assault, 

While  I  am  here  to  vindicate  thy  toil,  wo 

Above  the  generous  question  of  thy  arm. 

Brave  by  thy  fears,  and  in  thy  weakness  strong, 

This  hour  he  triumphs ;  but  confront  his  might, 

And  dare  him  to  the  combat,  then  with  ease 


160  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Disarm'd  and  quell'd,  his  fierceness  lie  resigns 

To  bondage  and  to  scorn ;  while  thus  inur'd 

By  watchful  danger,  by  unceasing  toil, 

The  immortal  mind,  superior  to  his  fate, 

Amid  the  outrage  of  external  things, 

Firm  as  the  solid  base  of  this  great  world,  590 

Rests  on  his  own  foundations.     Blow,  ye  winds ! 

Ye  waves !  ye  thunders  !  roll  your  tempest  on ; 

Shake,  ye  old  pillars  of  the  marble  sky ! 

Till  all  its  orbs  and  all  its  worlds  of  fire 

Be  loosen'd  from  their  seats ;  yet  still  serene, 

The  unconquer'd  mind  looks  down  upon  the  wreck ; 

And  ever  stronger  as  the  storms  advance, 

Firm  through  the  closing  ruin  holds  his  way, 

Where  Nature  calls  him  to  the  destin'd  goal." 

So  spake  the  goddess ;  while  through  all  her  frame 
Celestial  raptures  flow'd,  in  every  word,  eoi 

In  every  motion,  kindling  warmth  divine 
To  seize  who  listen'd.     Vehement  and  swift 
As  lightning  fires  the  aromatic  shade 
In  ^Ethiopian  fields,  the  stripling  felt 
Her  inspiration  catch  his  fervid  soul, 
And,  starting  from  his  languor,  thus  exclaim'd : 

"  Then  let  the  trial  come !  and  witness  thou, 
If  terror  be  upon  me ;  if  I  shrink 
To  meet  the  storm,  or  falter  in  my  strength         eio 
When  hardest  it  besets  me.     Do  not  think 
That  I  am  fearful  and  infirm  of  soul, 
As  late  thy  eyes  beheld  :  for  thou  hast  chang'd 
My  nature ;  thy  commanding  voice  has  wak'd 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    II.  161 

My  languid  powers  to  bear  me  boldly  on, 

Where'er  the  will  divine  my  path  ordains 

Through  toil  or  peril :  only  do  not  thou 

Forsake  me ;  O  be  thou  for  ever  near, 

That  I  may  listen  to  thy  sacred  voice, 

And  guide  by  thy  decrees  my  constant  feet.         eao 

But  say,  for  ever  are  my  eyes  bereft  ? 

Say,  shall  the  fair  Euphrosyne  not  once 

Appear  again  to  charm  me  ?     Thou,  in  heaven ! 

0  thou  eternal  arbiter  of  things ! 

Be  thy  great  bidding  done ;  for  who  am  I, 

To  question  thy  appointment?     Let  the  frowns 

Of  this  avenger  every  morn  o'ercast 

The  cheerful  dawn,  and  every  evening  damp 

"With  double  night  my  dwelling ;  I  will  learn 

To  hail  them  both,  and  unrepining  bear  eso 

His  hateful  presence  :  but  permit  my  tongue 

One  glad  request ;  and  if  my  deeds  may  find 

Thy  awful  eye  propitious,  O  restore 

The  rosy-featur'd  maid ;  again  to  cheer 

This  lonely  seat,  and  bless  me  with  her  smiles." 

He  spoke ;  when  instant  through  the  sable  glooms 
With  which  that  furious  presence  had  involv'd 
The  ambient  air,  a  flood  of  radiance  came 
Swift  as  the  lightning  flash ;  the  melting  clouds 
Flew  diverse,  and,  amid  the  blue  serene,  wo 

Euphrosyne  appear'd.     With  sprightly  step 
The  nymph  alighted  on  the  irriguous  lawn, 
And  to  her  wondering  audience  thus  began: 

"  Lo !  I  am  here  to  answer  to  your  vows, 


162  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

And  be  the  meeting  fortunate  !     I  come 
With  joyful  tidings  ;  we  shall  part  no  more  — 
Hark !  how  the  gentle  echo  from  her  cell 
Talks  through  the  cliffs,  and,  murmuring  o'er  the 

stream, 

Repeats  the  accents ;  we  shall  part  no  more. 
O  my  delightful  friends !  well  pleas'd  on  high      w 
The  Father  has  beheld  you,  while  the  might 
Of  that  stern  foe  with  bitter  trial  prov'd 
Your  equal  doings :  then  for  ever  spake 
The  higli  decree ;  that  thou,  celestial  maid  I 
Howe'er  that  grisly  phantom  on  thy  steps 
May  sometimes  dare  intrude,  yet  never  more 
Shalt  thou,  descending  to  the  abode  of  man, 
Alone  endure  the  rancour  of  his  arm, 
Or  leave  thy  lov'd  Euphrosyne  behind." 

She  ended  ;  and  the  whole  romantic  scene       eeo 
Immediate  vanish'd ;  rocks  and  woods  and  rills, 
The  mantling  tent,  and  each  mysterious  form, 
Flew  like  the  pictures  of  a  morning  dream, 
When  sunshine  fills  the  bed.     Awhile  I  stood 
Perplex'd  and  giddy ;  till  the  radiant  power 
Who  bade  the  visionary  landscape  rise, 
As  up  to  him  I  turn'd,  with  gentlest  looks 
Preventing  my  inquiry,  thus  began : 

"  There  let  thy  soul  acknowledge  its  complaint 
How  blind,  how  impious !     There  behold  the  ways 
Of  Heaven's  eternal  destiny  to  man,  eri 

For  ever  just,  benevolent,  and  wise: 
That  Virtue's  awful  steps,  howe'er  pursued 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  163 

By  vexing  fortune  and  intrusive  pain, 
Should  never  be  divided  from  her  chaste, 
Her  fair  attendant,  Pleasure.     Need  I  urge 
Thy  tardy  thought  through  all  the  various  round 
Of  this  existence,  that  thy  softening  soul 
At  length  may  learn  what  energy  the  hand 
Of  virtue  mingles  in  the  bitter  tide  <»o 

Of  passion  swelling  with  distress  and  pain, 
To  mitigate  the  sharp  with  gracious  drops 
Of  cordial  pleasure  ?     Ask  the  faithful  youth, 
Why  the  cold  urn  of  her  whom  long  he  lov'd 
So  often  fills  his  arms ;  so  often  draws 
His  lonely  footsteps  at  the  silent  hour, 
To  pay  the  mournful  tribute  of  his  tears  ? 
0 !  he  will  tell  thee  that  the  wealth  of  worlds 
Should  ne'er  seduce  his  bosom  to  forego  ess 

That  sacred  hour,  when,  stealing  from  the  noise 
Of  care  and  envy,  sweet  remembrance  soothes 
With  virtue's  kindest  looks  his  aching  breast, 
And  turns  his  tears  to  rapture.     Ask  the  crowd 
Which  flies  impatient  from  the  village  walk 
To  climb  the  neighbouring  cliffs,  when  far  below 
The  cruel  winds  have  hurl'd  upon  the  coast 
Some  helpless  bark ;  while  sacred  Pity  melts 
The  general  eye,  or  Terror's  icy  hand  . 

Smites  their  distorted  limbs  and  horrent  hair ;  \ 
While  every  mother  closer  to  her  breast  ?oo 

Catches  her  child,  and,  pointing  where  the  waves 
Foam  through  the  shatter'd  vessel,  shrieks  aloud 
As  one  poor  wretch  that  spreads  his  piteous  arms 


164  THE   PLEASURES    OP 

For  succour,  swallow'd  by  the  roaring  surge, 

As  now  another,  dash'd  against  the  rock, 

Drops  lifeless  down :  0 !  deemest  thou  indeed 

No  kind  endearment  here  by  Nature  given 

To  mutual  terror  and  compassion's  tears  ? 

No  sweetly  melting  softness  which  attracts, 

O'er  all  that  edge  of  pain,  the  social  powers        no 

To  this  their  proper  action  and  their  end  ? 

—  Ask  thy  own  heart,  when,  at  the  midnight  hour, 

Slow  through  that  studious  gloom  thy  pausing  eye, 

Led  by  the  glimmering  taper,  moves  around 

The  sacred  volumes  of  the  dead,  the  songs 

Of  Grecian  bards,  and  records  writ  by  Fame 

(For  Grecian  heroes,  where  the  present  power 

Df  heaven  and  earth  surveys  the  immortal  page, 

Even  as  a  father  blessing,  while  he  reads 

The  praises  of  his  son.     If  then  thy  soul,  720 

Spurning  the  yoke  of  these  inglorious  days, 

Mix  in  their  deeds,  and  kindle  with  their  flame ; 

Say,  when  the  prospect  blackens  on  thy  view, 

When  rooted  from  the  base,  heroic  states 

Mourn  in  the  dust,  and  tremble  at  the  frown 

Of  curst  ambition  ;  when  the  pious  band 

Of  youths,  who  fought  for  freedom  and  their  sires, 

Lie  side  by  side  in  gore ;  when  ruffian  pride 

Usurps  the  throne  of  Justice,  turns  the  pomp 

Of  public  power,  the  majesty  of  rule,  rao 

The  sword,  the  laurel,  and  the  purple  robe, 

To  slavish,  empty  pageants,  to  adorn 

A  tyrant's  walk,  and  glitter  in  the  eyes 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  165 

Of  such  as  bow  the  knee ;  when  honoured  urns 
i  Of  patriots  and  of  chiefs,  the  awful  bust 
!  And  storied  arch,  to  glut  the  coward  rage 
1  Of  regal  envy,  strew  the  public  way 
With  liallow'd  ruins ;  when  the  Muse's  haunt, 
The  marble  porch  where  Wisdom  wont  to  talk 
With  Socrates  or  Tully,  hears  no  more,  «o 

Save  the  hoarse  jargon  of  contentious  monks, 
Or  female  Superstition's  midnight  prayer; 
When  ruthless  Rapine  from  the  hand  of  Time 
Tears  the  destroying  scythe,  with  surer  blow 
To  sweep  the  works  of  glory  from  their  base ; 
Till  Desolation  o'er  the  grass-grown  street 
Expands  his  raven  wings,  and  up  the  wall, 
Where  senates  once  the  price  of  monarchs  doom'd, 
Hisses  the  gliding  snake  through  hoary  weeds     749 
That  clasp  the  mouldering  column ;  thus  defac'd, 
Thus  widely  mournful  when  the  prospect  thrills 
Thy  beating  bosom,  when  the  patriot's  tear 
Starts  from  thine  eye,  and  thy  extended  arm 
In  fancy  hurls  the  thunderbolt  of  Jove 
To  fire  the  impious  wreath  on  Philip's  brow, 
Or  dash  Octavius  from  the  trophied  car; 
Say,  does  thy  secret  soul  repine  to  taste 
The  big  distress  ?   Or  would'st  thou  then  exchange 
Those  heart-ennobling  sorrows  for  the  lot 
Of  him  who  sits  amid  the  gaudy  herd  roo 

Of  mute  barbarians  bending  to  his  nod, 
And  bears  aloft  his  gold-invested  front, 
And  says  within  himself,  *  I  am  a  king, 


166  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

And  wherefore  should  the  clamorous  voice  of  woe 
Intrude  upon  mine  ear?'     The  baleful  dregs 
Of  these  late  ages,  this  inglorious  draught 
Of  servitude  and  folly,  have  not  yet, 
Blest  be  the  eternal  Ruler  of  the  world ! 
Defil'd  to  such  a  depth  of  sordid  shame 
The  native  honours  of  the  human  soul,  rco 

Nor  so  effac'd  the  image  of  its  Sire." 


BOOK    III. 


ARGUMENT. 

PLEASURE  in  observing  the  tempers  and  manners  of  men,  even  where 
vicious  or  absurd.  The  origin  of  vice,  from  false""representatuns 
of  the  fancy,  producing  false  opinions  concerning  good  and  evil. 
Inquiry  into  ridicule.  The  general  sources  of  ridicule  in  the  minds 
and  characters  of  men  enumerated.  Final  cause  of  ^the  sense  of 
ridicule.  The  resemblance  of  certain  aspects  of  inanimate  things 
to  the  sensations  and  properties  of  the  mind.  The  operations  of 
the  mind  in  the  production  of  the  works  of  imagination  described. 
The  secondary  pleasure  from  imitation.  The  benevolent  order  of 
the  world  illustrated  in  the  arbitrary  connexion  of  these  pleasures 
•with  the  objects  which  excite  them.  The  nature  and  conduct  of 
taste.  Concluding  with  an  account  of  the  natural  and  inora. 
advantages  resulting  from  a  sensible  and  well-formed  imagination. 


WHAT  wonder,  therefore,  since  the  endearing  ties 
Of  passion  link  the  universal  kind 
Of  man  so  close,  what  wonder  if  to  search 
This  common  nature  through  the  various  change 
Of  sex  and  age  and  fortune,  and  the  frame 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  167 

Of  each  peculiar,  draw  the  busy  mind 

With  unresisted  charms  ?     The  spacious  west, 

And  all  the  teeming  regions  of  the  south, 

Hold  not  a  quarry,  to  the  curious  flight 

Of  Knowledge,  half  so  tempting  or  so  fair,  10 

As  man  to  man.     Nor  only  where  the  smiles 

Of  Love  invite  ;  nor  only  where  the  applause 

Of  cordial  Honour  turns  the  attentive  eye 

On  Virtue's  graceful  deeds.     For  since  the  course 

Of  things  external  acts  in  different  ways 

On  human  apprehensions,  as  the  hand 

Of  Nature  temper'd  to  a  different  frame 

Peculiar  minds ;  so  haply  where  the  powers 

Of  Fancy  neither  lessen  nor  enlarge 

The  images  of  things,  but  paint  in  all  20 

Their  genuine  hues,  the  features  which  they  wore 

Jn  Nature ;  there  Opinion  will  be  true, 

And  Action  right.     For  Action  treads  the  path 

In  which  Opinion  says  he  follows  good, 

Or  flies  from  evil ;  and  Opinion  gives  ' 

Report  of  good  or  evil,  as  the  scene 

Was  drawn  by  Fancy,  lovely  or  deform'd : 

Thus  her  report  can  never  there  be  true 

Where  Fancy  cheats  the  intellectual  eye, 

With  glaring  colours  and  distorted  lines.  so 

Is  there  a  man,  who,  at  the  sound  of  death, 

Sees  ghastly  shapes  of  terror  conjur'd  up, 

And  black  before  him  ;  nought  but  deathbed  groans 

And  fearful  prayers,  and  plunging  from  the  brink 

Of  light  and  being,  down  the  gloomy  air, 


168  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

An  unknown  depth  ?     Alas  !  in  such  a  mind, 

If  no  bright  forms  of  excellence  attend 

The  image  of  his  country ;  nor  the  pomp 

Of  sacred  senates,  nor  the  guardian  voice 

Of  Justice  on  her  throne,  nor  aught  that  wakes   40 

The  conscious  bosom  with  a  patriot's  flame ; 

Will  not  Opinion  tell  him,  that  to  die, 

Or  stand  the  hazard,  is  a  greater  ill 

Than  to  betray  his  country  ?     And  in  act 

Will  he  not  choose  to  be  a  wretch  and  live  ? 

Here  vice  begins  then.     From  the  enchanting  cup 

Which  Fancy  holds  to  all,  the  unwary  thirst 

Of  youth  oft  swallows  a  Circoean  draught, 

That  sheds  a  baleful  tincture  o'er  the  eye 

Of  Reason,  till  no  longer  he  discerns,  » 

And  only  guides  to  err.     Then  revel  forth 

A  furious  band  that  spurn  him  from  the  throne ; 

And  all  is  uproar.     Thus  Ambition  grasps 

The  empire  of  the  soul;  thus  pale  Revenge 

Unsheaths  her  murderous  dagger ;  and  the  hands 

Of  Lust  and  Rapine,  with  unholy  arts, 

Watch  to  o'erturn  the  barrier  of  the  laws 

That  keeps  them  from  their  prey:  thus  all  the 

plagues 

The  wicked  bear,  or  o'er  the  trembling  scene 
The  tragic  Muse  discloses,  under  shapes  o> 

Of  honour,  safety,  pleasure,  ease,  or  pomp, 
Stole  first  into  the  mind.  -  Yet  not  by  all 
Those  lying  forms  which  Fancy  in  the  brain 
Engenders  are  the  kindling  passions  driven 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  169 

To  guilty  deeds ;  nor  Reason  bound  in  chains, 
That  Vice  alone  may  lord  it :  oft  adorn'd 
With  solemn  pageants,  Folly  mounts  the  throne, 
And  plays  her  idiot  antics,  like  a  queen. 
A  thousand  garbs  she  wears ;  a  thousand  ways 
She  wheels  her  giddy  empire.  —  Lo !  thus  far 
With  bold  adventure,  to  the  Mantuan  lyre  / 

I  sing  of  Nature's  charm,  and  touch  well  pleas?u 
A  stricter  note :  now  haply  must  my  song 
Unbend  her  serious  measure,  and  reveal, 
In  lighter  strains,  how  Folly's  awkward  arts/ 
Excite  impetuous  Laughter's  gay  rebuke  ;    \ 
The  sportive  province  of  the  comic  Muse.  / 

See  !  in  what  crowds  the  uncouth  forms  advance ; 
Each  would  outstrip  the  other,  each  prevent 
Our  careful  search,  and  offer  to  your  gaze,  * 

Unask'd,  his  motley  features.  Wait  awhile, 
My  curious  friends !  and  let  us  first  arrange 
In  proper  order  your  promiscuous  throng. 

Behold  the  foremost  band ;  of  slender  thought, 
And  easy  faith ;  whom  flattering  Fancy  soothes 
With  lying  spectres,  in  themselves  to  view 
Illustrious  forms  of  excellence  and  good, 
That  scorn  the  mansion.     With  exulting  hearts 
They  spread  their  spurious  treasures  to  the  sun, 
And  bid  the  world  admire !  but  chief  the  glance 
Of  wishful  Envy  draws  their  joy-bright  eyes,       si 
And  lifts  with  self-applause  each  lordly  brow. 
In  number  boundless  as  the  blooms  of  Spring, 
Behold  their  glaring  idols,  empty  shades 


170  THE   PLEASURES    OP 

By  Fancy  gilded  o'er,  and  then  set  up 

For  adoration.     Some  in  Learning's  garb, 

With  formal  band,  and  sable-cinctur'd  gown, 

And  rags  of  mouldy  volumes.     Some  elate 

With  martial  splendour,  steely  pikes  and  swords 

Of  costly  frame,  and  gay  Phoenician  robes  100 

Inwrought  with  flowery  gold,  assume  the  port 

Of  stately  Valour :  listening  by  his  side, 

There  stands  a  female  form ;  to  her.  with  looks 

Of  earnest  import,  pregnant  with  amaze, 

He  talks  of  deadly  deeds,  of  breaches,  storms, 

And  sulphurous  mines,  and  ambush ;  then  at  once 

Breaks  off,  and  smiles  to  see  her  look  so  pale, 

And  asks  some  wondering  question  of  her  fears. 

Others  of  graver  mien ;  behold,  adorn'd 

With  holy  ensigns,  how  sublime  they  move,         no 

And,  bending  oft  their  sanctimonious  eyes, 

Take  homage  of  the  simple-minded  throng; 

Ambassadors  of  Heaven !     Nor  much  unlike 

Is  he  whose  visage,  in  the  lazy  mist 

That  mantles  every  feature,  hides  a  brood 

Of  politic  conceits ;  of  whispers,  nods, 

And  hints  deep  omen'd  with  unwieldy  schemes, 

And  dark  portents  of  state.     Ten  thousand  more, 

Prodigious  habits  and  tumultuous  tongues, 

Pour  dauntless  in,  and  swell  the  boastful  band.   120 

Then  comes  the  second  order ;  all  who  seek 
The  debt  of  praise,  where  watchful  Unbelief 
Darts  through  the  thin  pretence  her  squinting  eye 
On  some  retir'd  appearance  which  belies 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    III.  171 

The  boasted  virtue,  .or  annuls  the  applause 

That  justice  else  would  pay.     Here,  side  bj  side, 

I  sec  two  leaders  of  the  solemn  train 

Approaching :  one  a  female,  old  and  gray, 

With  eyes  demure,  and  wrinkle-furrow'd  brow, 

Pale  as  the  cheeks  of  death  ;  yet  still  she  stuns 

The  sickening  audience  with  a  nauseous  tale ;      131 

How  many  youths  her  myrtle  chains  have  worn, 

How  many  virgins  at  her  triumphs  pin'd ! 

Yet  how  resolv'd  she  guards  her  cautious  heart; 

Such  is  her  terror  at  the  risks  of  love, 

And  man's  seducing  tongue !     The  other  seems 

A  bearded  sage,  ungentle  in  his  mien, 

And  sordid  all  his  habit ;  peevish  Want 

Grins  at  his  heels,  while  down  the  gazing  tlirong 

lie  stalks,  resounding  in  magnific  praise  no 

The  vanity  of  riches,  the  contempt 

Of  pomp  and  power.     Be  prudent  in  your  zeal, 

Ye  grave  associates  !  let  the  silent  grace 

Of  her  who  blushes  at  the  fond  regard 

Her  charms  inspire,  more  eloquent  unfold 

The  praise  of  spotless  honour :  let  the  man 

Whose  eye  regards  not  his  illustrious  pomp 

And  ample  store,  but  as  indulgent  streams 

To  cheer  the  barren  soil  and  spread  the  fruits 

Of  joy,  let  him  by  juster  measures  fix  iso 

The  price  of  riches  and  the  end  of  power. 

Another  tribe  succeeds;  deluded  long 
By  Fancy's  dazzling  optics,  these  behold 
The  images  of  some  peculiar  things 


172  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

With  brighter  hues  resplendent,  and  portray'd 
With  features  nobler  far  than  e'er  adoru'd 
Their  genuine  objects.     Hence  the  fever'd  heart 
Pants  with  delirious  hope  for  tinsel  charms ; 
Hence  oft  obtrusive  on  the  eye  of  scorn, 
Untimely  zeal  her  witless  pride  betrays !  IGO 

And  serious  manhood  from  the  towering  aim 
Of  wisdom,  stoops  to  emulate  the  boast 
Of  childish  toil.     Behold  yon  mystic  form, 
Bedeck'd  with  feathers,  insects,  weeds,  and  shells ! 
Not  with  intenser  view  the  Samian  sage 
Bent  his  fix'd  eye  on  heaven's  intenser  fires, 
When  first  the  order  of  that  radiant  scene 
Swell'd  his  exulting  thought,  than  this  surveys 
A  muckworm's  entrails  or  a  spider's  fang. 
Next  him  a  youth,  with  flowers  and  myrtles  crown'd, 
Attends  that  virgin  form,  and  blushing  kneels, 
With  fondest  gesture  and  a  suppliant's  tongue, 
To  win  her  coy  regard :  adieu,  for  him,  irs 

The  dull  engagements  of  the  bustling  world  ! 
Adieu  the  sick  impertinence  of  praise  ! 
And  hope,  and  action !  for  with  her  alone, 
By  streams  and  shades,  to  steal  these  sighing  hours, 
Is  all  he  asks,  and  all  that  fate  can  give  ! 
Thee  too,  facetious  Momion,  wandering  here, 
Thee,  dreaded  censor,  oft  have  I  beheld  iso 

ISewilder'd  unawares  ;  alas  !  too  long 
Flush'd  with  thy  comic  triumphs  and  the  spoils 
Of  sly  derision  !  till  on  every  side 
Hurling  thy  random  bolts,  offended  Truth 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  173 

Assign'd  tliee  here  thy  station  with  the  slaves 

Of  P\)lly.     Thy  once  formidable  name 

Shall  grace  her  humble  records,  and  be  heard 

In  scoffs  and  mockery  bandied  from  the  lips 

Of  all  the  vengeful  brotherhood  around, 

•So  oft  the  patient  victims  of  thy  scorn.  190 

But  now,  ye  gay !  to  whom  indulgent  fate, 
Of  all  the  Muse's  empire  hath  assigned 
The  fields  of  folly,  hither  each  advance 
Your  sickles ;  here  the  teeming  soil  affords 
Its  richest  growth.     A  favourite  brood  appears ; 
In  whom  the  demon,  with  a  mother's  joy, 
Views  all  her  charms  reflected,  all  her  cares 
At  full  repaid.     Ye  most  illustrious  band  ! 
Who,  scorning  Reason's  tame,  pedantic  rules, 
And  Order's  vulgar  bondage,  never  meant  aoo 

For  souls  sublime  as  yours,  with  generous  zeal 
Pay  Vice  the  reverence  Virtue  long  usurp'd, 
And  yield  Deformity  the  fond  applause 
Which  Beauty  wont  to  claim  ;  forgive  my  song, 
That  for  the  blushing  diffidence  of  youth, 
It  shuns  the  unequal  province  of  your  praise. 

Thus  far  triumphant  in  the  pleasing  guile 
Of  bland  Imagination,  Folly's  train 
Have  dar'd  our  search :  but  now  a  dastard  kind 
Advance  reluctant,  and  with,  faltering  feet  210 

Shrink  from  the  gazer's  eye ;  enfeebled  hearts 
Whom  Fancy  chills  with  visionary  fears, 
Or  bends  to  servile  tameness  with  conceits 
Of  shame,  of  evil,  or  of  base  defect, 


174  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Fantastic  and  delusive.     Here  the  slave 

Who  droops  abash'd  when  sullen  Pornp  surveys 

His  humbler  habit ;  here  the  trembling  wretch 

Unnerv'd  and  struck  with  Terror's  icy  bolts, 

Spent  in  weak  wailings,  drown'd  in  shameful  tears, 

At  every  dream  of  danger:  here  subdued  2->o 

By  frontless  laughter  and  the  hardy  scorn 

Of  old,  unfeeling  vice,  the  abject  soul, 

Who  blushing  half  resigns  the  candid  praise 

Of  Temperance  and  Honour ;  half  disowns 

A  freeman's  hatred  of  tyrannic  pride; 

And  hears  with  sickly  smiles  the  venal  mouth 

With  foulest  license  mock  the  patriot's  name. 

Last  of  the  motley  bands  on  whom  the  power 
Of  gay  Derision  bends  her  hostile  aim, 
Is  that  where  shameful  Ignorance  presides.         230 
Beneath  her  sordid  banners,  lo !  they  march 
Like  blind  and  lame.  .  Whate'er   their   doubtful 

hands 

Attempt,  Confusion  straight  appears  behind, 
And  troubles  all  the  work.     Thro'  many  a  maze, 
Perplex'd  they  struggle,  changing  every  path, 
O'erturning  every  purpose ;  then  at  last 
Sit  down  dismay'd,  and  leave  the  entangled  scene 
For  Scorn  to  sport  with.     Such  then  is  the  abode 
Of  Folly  in  the  mind;  and  such  the  shapes 
In  which  she  governs  her  obsequious  train.          £« 

Through  every  scene  of  ridicule  in  things 
To  lead  the  tenor  of  my  devious  lay ; 
Through  every  swift  occasion,  which  the  hand 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  175 

Of  Laughter  points  at,  when  the  mirthful  sting 
Distends  her  sallying  nerves  and  chokes  her  tongue ; 
What  were  it  but  to  count  each  crystal  drop 
Which  Morning's  dewy  fingers  on  the  blooms 
Of  May  distil  ?     Suffice  it  to  have  said, 
Where'er  the  power  of  Ridicule  displays  249 

Her  quaint-eyed  visage,  some  incongruous  form, 
Some  stubborn  dissonance  of  things  combin'd, 
Strikes  on  the  quick  observer:  whether  Pomp, 
Or  Praise,  or  Beauty,  mix  their  partial  claim 
Where  sordid  fashions,  where  ignoble  deeds, 
Where  foul  Deformity  are  wont  to  dwell ; 
Or  whether  these  with  violation  loath'd, 
Invade  resplendent  Pomp's  imperious  mien, 
The  charms  of  Beauty,  or  the  boast  of  Praise. 
Ask  we  for  what  fair  end  the  Almighty  Sire 
In  mortal  bosoms  wakes  this  gay  contempt,         260 
These  grateful  stings  of  laughter,  from  disgust 
Educing  pleasure  ?     Wherefore,  but  to  aid 
The  tardy  steps  of  Reason,  and  at  once 
By  this  prompt  impulse  urge  us  to  depress 
The  giddy  aims  of  Folly  ?     Though  the  light 
Of  Truth  slow  dawning  on  the  inquiring  mind 
At  length  unfolds,  through  many  a  subtile  tie, 
How  these  uncouth  disorders  end  at  last 
In  public  evil !  yet  benignant  Heaven, 
Conscious  how  dim  the  dawn  of  truth  appears     270 
To  thousands  ;  conscious  what  a  scanty  pause 
From  labours  and  from  care,  the  wider  lot 
Of  humble  life  affords  for  studious  thought 


v§ 


176  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

To  scan  the  maze  of  Nature ;  therefore  stamp'd 
The  glaring  scenes  with  characters  of  scorn, 
As  broad,  as  obvious,  to  the  passing  clown, 
As  to  the  letter'd  sage's  curious  eye. 

Such  are  the  various  aspects  of  the  mind  — 
Some  heavenly  genius,  whose  unclouded  thoughts 
Attain  that  secret  harmony  which  blends  280 

The  ethereal  spirit  with  its  mould  of  clay  ; 
) !  teach  me  to  reveal  the  grateful  charm 
That  searchless  Nature  o'er  the  sense  of  man 
Diffuses,  to  behold,  in  lifeless  things, 
The  inexpressive  semblance  of  himself, 
Of  thought  and  passion.     Mark  the  sable  woods     j 
hat  shade  sublime  yon  mountain's  nodding  brow;/ 
With  what  religious  awe  the  solemn  scene 
Commands  your  steps !  as  if  the  reverend  form 
Of  Minos  or  of  Numa  should  forsake  290 

The  Elysian  seats,  and  down  the  embowering  glade 
Move  to  your  pausing  eye !     Behold  the  expanse 
Of  yon  gay  landscape,  where  the  silver  clouds 
Flit  o'er  the  heavens  before  the  sprightly  breeze : 
Now  their  gray  cincture  skirts  the  doubtful  sun ; 
Now  streams  of  splendour,  thro'  their  opening  veil 
Effulgent,  sweep  from  off  the  gilded  lawn 
The  aerial  shadows;  on  the  curling  brook, 
And  on  the  shady  margin's  quivering  leaves 
"With  quickest  lustre  glancing  ;  while  you  view  soo 
The  prospect,  say,  within  your  cheerful  breast 
Plays  not  the  lively  sense  of  winning  mirth    [round 
With  clouds  and    sunshine   chequer'd,  while   the 


IMAGINATION.       BOOK   III.  177 

Of  social  converse,  to  the  inspiring  tongue 
Of  some  gay  nymph  amid  her  subject  train, 
Moves  all  obsequious  ?     Whence  is  this  effect, 
This  kindred  power  of  such  discordant  things? 
Or  flows  their  semblance  from  that  mystic  tone 
To  which  the  new-born  mind's  harmonious  powers 
At  first  were  strung  ?     Or  rather  from  the  links 
Which  artful  custom  twines  around  her  frame  ? 

For  when  the  different  images  of  things,          312 
By  chance  combin'd,  have  struck  the  attentive  soul 
With  deeper  impulse,  or  connected  long, 
Have  drawn  her  frequent  eye ;  howe'er  distinct 
The  external  scenes,  yet  oft  the  ideas  gain 
From  that  conjunction  an  eternal  tie, 
And  sympathy  unbroken.     Let  the  mind 
Recall  one  partner  of  the  various  league, 
Immediate,  lo  !  the  firm  confederates  rise,  320 

And  each  his  former  station  straight  resumes : 
One  movement  governs  the  consenting  throng, 
And  all  at  once  with  rosy  pleasure  shine, 
Or  all  are  sadden'd  with  the  glooms  of  care. 
'Twas  thus,  if  ancient  fame  the  truth  unfold, 
Two  faithful  needles,  from  the  informing  touch 
Of  the  same  parent  stone,  together  drew 
Its  mystic  virtue,  and  at  first  conspir'd 
With  fatal  impulse  quivering  to  the  pole: 
Then,  tho'  disjoin'd  by  kingdoms,  tho'  the  main 
Roll'd  its  broad  surge  betwixt,  and  different  stars 
Beheld  their  wakeful  motions,  yet  preserv'd         333 
The  former  friendship,  and  remember'd  still 


178  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

The  alliance  of  their  birth  :  whate'er  the  line 
Which  one  possess'd,  nor  pause  nor  quiet  knew 
The  sure  associate,  ere  with  trembling  speed 
He  found  his  path,  ancl  fix'd  unerring  there. 
Such  is  the  secret  union,  when  we  feel 
A  song,  a  flower,  a  name,  at  once  restore 
Those  long-connected  scenes  where  first  they  mov'd 
The  attention :  backward  through  her  mazy  walks 
Guiding  the  wanton  fancy  to  her  scope,  342 

A          To  temples,  courts,  or  fields  ;  with  all  the  band 
1   Of  painted  forms,  of  passions  and  designs 
Attendant :  whence,  if  pleasing  in  itself, 
The  prospect  from  that  sweet  accession  gains 
Redoubled  influence  o'er  the  listening  mind. 
By  these  mysterious  ties,  the  busy  power 
Of  Memory  her  ideal  train  preserves 
Entire ;  or  when  they  would  elude  her  watch,     *so 
Reclaims  their  fleeting  footsteps  from  the  waste 
Of  dark  oblivion ;  thus  collecting  all 
The  various  forms  of  being  to  present, 
Before  the  curious  aim  of  mimic  art, 
Their  largest  choice :  like  Spring's  unfolded  blooms 
Exhaling  sweetness,  that  the  skilful  bee 
May  taste  at  will,  from  their  selected  spoils 
To  work  her  dulcet  food.     For  not  the  expanse 
Of  living  lakes  in  Summer's  noontide  calm, 
Reflects     the    bordering    shade,    and    sun-bright 
heavens  aeo 

With  fairer  semblance;  not  the  sculptur'd  gold 
More  faithful  keeps  the  graVer's  lively  trace, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  179 

Than  he  whose  birth  the  sister  powers  of  art 
Propitious  view'd,  and  from  his  genial  star 
Shed  influence  to  the  seeds  of  fancy  kind ; 
Than  his  attemper'd  bosom  must  preserve 
The  seal  of  Nature.     There  alone  unchang'd, 
Her  form  remains.     The  balmy  walks  of  May 
There  breathe  perennial  sweets ;  the  trembling  chord 
Resounds  for  ever  in  the  abstracted  ear,  sro 

Melodious ;  and  the  virgin's  radiant  eye, 
Superior  to  disease,  to  grief,  and  time, 
Shines  with  unbating  lustre.     Thus  at  length 
Endow'd  with  all  that  nature  can  bestow, 
The  child  of  Fancy  oft  in  silence  bends 
O'er  these  mixt  treasures  of  his  pregnant  breast, 
"With  conscious  pride.    From  them  he  oft  resolves 
To  frame  he  knows  not  what  excelling  things, 
And  win  he  knows  not  what  sublime  reward 
Of  praise  and  wonder.     By  degrees,  the  mind    a* 
Feels  her  young  nerves  dilate  ;  the  plastic  powers 
Labour  for  action ;  blind  emotions  heave 
His  bosom  ;  and  with  loveliest  frenzy  caught, 
From  earth  to  heaven  he  rolls  his  daring  eye, 
From  heaven  to  earth.   Anon  ten  thousand  shapes, 
Like  spectres  trooping  to  the  wizard's  call, 
Flit  swift  before  him.     From  the  womb  of  earth, 
From  ocean's  bed  they  come ;  the  eternal  heavens 
Disclose  their  splendours,  and  the  dark  abyss 
Pours  out  her  births  unknown.     With  fixed  gaze 
He  marks  the  rising  phantoms.     Now  compares 
Their  different  forms;  now  blends  them,  now  divides, 


180  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Enlarges  and  extenuates  by  turns  ;  ®a 

Opposes,  ranges  in  fantastic  bands, 

And  infinitely  varies.     Hither  now, 

Now  thither  fluctuates  his  inconstant  aim, 

With  endless  choice  perplex'd.     At  length  his  plan 

Begins  to  open.     Lucid  order  dawns; 

And  as  from  Chaos  old  the  jarring  seeds 

Of  Nature  at  the  voice  divine  repair'd 

Each  to  its  place,  till  rosy  earth  unveil'd 

Her  fragrant  bosom,  and  the  joyful  sun 

Sprung  up  the  blue  serene ;  by  swift  degrees 

Thus  disentangled,  his  entire  design 

Emerges.     Colours  mingle,  features  join, 

And  lines  converge  :  the  fainter  parts  retire  ; 

The  fairer  eminent  in  light  advance ; 

And  every  image  on  its  neighbour  smiles. 

Awhile  he  stands,  and  with  a  father's  joy 

Contemplates.     Then,  with  Promethean  art,       410 

Into  its  proper  vehicle  he  breathes 

The  fair  conception  ;  which,  embodied  thus, 

And  permanent,  becomes  to  eyes  or  ears 

An  object  ascertain'd:  while  thus  inform'd, 

The  various  organs  of  his  mimic  skill, 

The  consonance  of  sounds,  the  featur'd  rock, 

The  shadowy  picture  and  impassion'd  verse, 

Beyond  their  proper  powers  attract  the  soul 

By  that  expressive  semblance,  while  in  sight 

Of  Nature's  great  original*  we  scan  420 

The  lively  child  of  Art ;  while  line  by  line, 

And  feature  after  feature,  we  refer 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  181 

To  that  sublime  exemplar  whence  it  stole  ^- 
Those  animating  charms.     Thus  Beauty's  palm 
Betwixt  them  wavering  hangs  ;  applauding  Love 
Doubts  where  to  choose ;  and  mortal  man  aspires 
To  tempt  creative  praise.     As  when  a  cloud 
Of  gathering  hail  with  limpid  crusts  of  ice 
Inclos'd  and  obvious  to  the  beaming  sun, 
Collects  his  large  effulgence  ;  straight  the  heavens 
.With  equal  flames  present  on  either  hand  431 

The  radiant  visage  :  Persia  stands  at  gaze, 
Apall'd ;  and  on  the  brink  of  Ganges  doubts 
The  snowv-vested  seer,  in  Mithra's  name, 
To  which  the  fragrance  of  the  south  shall  burn, 
To  which  his  warbled  orisons  ascend. 

Such  various  bliss  the  well-tun'd  heart  enjoys, 
Favour'd  of  Heaven !  while  plung'd  in  sordid  cares, 
The  unfeeling  vulgar  mocks  the  boon  divine ; 
And  harsh  Austerity,  from  whose  rebuke  440 

Young  Love  and  smiling  Wonder  shrink  away 
Abash'd  and  chili  of  heart,  with.sager  frowns 
Condemns  the  fair  enchantment.     On  my  strain, 
Perhaps  even  now,  some  cold,  fastidious  judge 
Casts  a  disdainful  eye ;  and  calls  my  toil, 
And  calls  the  love  and  beauty  which  I  sing, 
The  dream  of  Folly.     Thou,  grave  censor !  say, 
Is  Beauty  then  a  dream,  because  the  glooms 
Of  dulness  hang  too  heavy  on  thy  sense 
To  let  her  shine  upon  thee  ?     So  the  man  *so 

Whose  eye  ne'er  open'd  on  the  light  of  heaven 
Might  smile  with  scorn,  while  raptur'd  vision  tells 


182  THE   PLEASURES    OF 

Of  the  gay-colour' d  radiance  flushing  bright 

O'er  all  creation.     From  the  wise  be  far 

Such  gross  unhallow'd  pride ;  nor  needs  my  song 

Descend  so  low  ;  but  rather  now  unfold, 

If  human  thought  could  reach,  or  words  unfold, 

By  what  mysterious  fabric  of  the  mind, 

The  deep-felt  joys  and  harmony  of  sound 

Result  from  airy  motion ;  and  from  shape  <oo 

The  lovely  phantoms  of  sublime  and  fair. 

By  what  fine  ties  hath  God  connected  things 

When  present  in  the  mind,  which  in  themselves 

Have  no  connection  ?     Sure  the  rising  sun, 

O'er  the  cerulean  convex  of  the  sea, 

With  equal  brightness  and  with  equal  warmth 

Might  roll  his  fiery  orb ;  nor  yet  the  soul 

Thus  feel  her  frame  expanded,  and  her  powers 

Exulting  in  the  splendour  she  beholds ; 

Like  a  young  conqueror  moving  through  the  pomp 

Of  some  triumphal  day.     When  join'd  at  eve,    4n 

Soft  murmuring  streams  and  gales  of  gentlest  breath 

Melodious  Philomela's  wakeful  strain 

Attemper,  could  not  man's  discerning  ear 

Through  all  its  tones  the  sympathy  pursue ; 

Nor  yet  this  breath  divine  of  nameless  joy 

Steal  thro'  his  veins,  and  fan  the  awaken'd  heart, 

Mild  as  the  breeze,  yet  rapturous  as  the  song  ? 

But  were  not  Nature  still  endow'd  at  large 
With  all  which  life  requires,  tho'  unadorn'd          <so 
With  such  enchantment  ?  Wherefore  then  her  form 
So  exquisitely  fair  ?  her  breath  perfum'd 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  183 

With  such  ethereal  sweetness  ?  whence  her  voice 

Inform'd  at  will  to  raise  or  to  depress 

The  impassion'd  soul  ?  and  whence  the  robes  of  light 

Which  thus  invest  her  with  more  lovely  pomp 

Than  Fancy  can  describe  ?  Whence  but  from  Thee, 

0  Source  divine  of  ever-flowing  love, 

And  thy  unmeasur'd  goodness  ?     Not  content 

With  every  food  of  life  to  nourish  man,  «o 

By  kind  illusions  of  the  wondering  sense, 

Thou  mak'st  all  Nature  beauty  to  his  eye, 

Or  music  to  his  ear :  well-pleas'd,  he  scans 

The  goodly  prospect ;  and,  with  inward  smiles, 

Treads  the  gay  verdure  of  the  painted  plain; 

Beholds  the  azure  canopy  of  heaven, 

And  living  lamps  that  over-arch  his  head 

With  more  than  regal  splendour ;  bends  his  ears 

To  the  full  choir  of  water,  air,  and  earth ; 

Nor  heeds  the  pleasing  error  of  his  thought,       wo 

Nor  doubts  the  painted  green  or  azure  arch, 

Nor  questions  more  the  music's  mingling  sounds, 

Than  space  or  motion  or  eternal  time ; 

So  sweet  he  feels  their  influence  to  attract 

The  fixed  soul,  to  brighten  the  dull  glooms 

Of  care,  and  make  the  destin'd  road  of  life 

Delightful  to  his  feet.     So  fables  tell, 

The  adventurous  hero,  bound  on  hard  exploits, 

Beholds  with  glad  surprise,  by  secret  spells 

Of  some  kind  sage,  the  patron  of  his  toils,  oo 

A  visionary  paradise  disclos'd 

Amid  the  dubious  wild :  with  streams  and  shades 


• 


184  THE   PLEASUKES    OF 

And  airy  songs,  the  enchanted  landscape  smiles, 
Cheers  his  long  labours,  and  renews  his  frame. 
What  then  is  taste,  but  these  internal  powers 
Active  and  strong,  and  feelingly  alive 
To  each  fine  impulse  ?  a  discerning  sense 
Of  decent  and  sublime,  with  quick  disgust 
From  things  deform'd  or  disarrang'd,  or  gross 
In  species  ?     This,  nor  gems,  nor  stores  of  gold, 
Nor  purple  state,  nor  culture  can  bestow ;  ca 

But  God  alone,  when  first  his  active  hand 
Imprints  the  secret  bias  of  the  soul. 
He,  mighty  Parent!  wise  and  just  in  all, 
Free  as  the  vital  breeze  or  light  of  heaven, 
Reveals  the  charms  of  Nature.     Ask  the  swain 
Who  journeys  homeward  from  a  summer  day's 
Long  labour,  why,  forgetful  of  his  toils 
And  due  repose,  he  loiters  to  behold 
The  sunshine  gleaming,  as  thro'  amber  clouds,     KB 
O'er  all  the  western  sky ;  full  soon,  I  ween, 
His  rude  expression  and  untutor'd  airs, 
Beyond  the  power  of  language,  will  unfold 
The  form  of  beauty,  smiling  at  his  heart, 
How  lovely !  how  commanding !  But  tho'  Heaven 
In  every  breast  hath  sown  these  early  seeds 
Of  love  and  admiration,  yet  in  vain, 
Without  fair  culture's  kind,  parental  aid, 
Without  enlivening  suns  and  genial  showers, 
And  shelter  from  the  blast,  in  vain  we  hope        MO 
'    The  tender  plant  should  rear  its  blooming  head, 
Or  yield  the  harvest  promis'd  in  its  spring. 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  185 

Nor  yet  will  every  soil  with  equal  stores 
Repay  the  tiller's  labour ;  or  attend 
His  will,  obsequious,  whether  to  produce 
The  olive  or  the  laurel.     Different  minds 
Incline  to  different  objects :  one  pursues 
The  vast  alone,  the  wonderful,  the  wild ; 
Another  sighs  for  harmony  and  grace, 
And  gentlest  beauty.     Hence  when  lightning  fires 
The  arch  of  heaven,  and  thunders  rock  the  ground, 
When  furious  whirlwinds  rend  the  howling  air, 
And  ocean,  groaning  from  his  lowest  bed, 
Heaves  his  tempestuous  billows  to  the  sky ; 
Amid  the  mighty  uproar,  while  below 
The  nations  tremble,  Shakespeare  looks  abroad 
From  some  high  cliff,  superior,  and  enjoys 
The  elemental  war.     But  Waller  longs, 
All  on  the  margin  of  some  flowery  stream, 
To  spread  his  careless  limbs  amid  the  cool  ««> 

Of  plantane  shades,  and  to  the  listening  deer 
The  tale  of  slighted  vows  and  love's  disdain 
Resound  soft-warbling  all  the  livelong  day : 
Consenting  Zephyr  sighs  ;  the  weeping  rill 
\Joins  in  his  plaint,  melodious;  mute  the  groves; 
I  And  hill  and  dale  with  all  their  echoes  mourn. 
I  Such  and  so  various  are  the  tastes  of  men. 

0  blest  of  Heaven,  whom  not  the  languid  songs 
Of  Luxury,  the  Siren!  not  the  bribes 
Of  sordid  Wealth,  nor  all  the  gaudy  spoils          sro 
Of  pageant  Honour,  can  seduce  to  leave 
Those  ever-blooming  sweets,  which  from  the  store 

N 


186  THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Of  Nature  fair  Imagination  culls 
To  charm  the  enliven'd  soul !     What  tho'  not  all 
Of  mortal  offspring  can  attain  the  heights 
Of  envied  life  ;  though  only  few  possess 
Patrician  treasures  or  imperial  state ; 
Yet  Nature's  care,  to  all  her  children  just, 
With  richer  treasures  and  an  ampler  state, 
Endows  at  large  whatever  happy  man  nao 

Will  deign  to  use  them.     His  the  city's  pomp, 
The  rural  honours  his.     Whate'er  adorns 
The  princely  dome,  the  column  and  the  arch, 
The  breathing  marbles  and  the  sculptur'd  gold, 
Beyond  the  proud  possessor's  narrow  claim, 
His  tuneful  breast  enjoys.     For  him  the  Spring 
Distils  her  dews,  and  from  the  silken  gem 
Its  lucid  leaves  unfolds ;  for  him  the  hand 
Of  Autumn  tinges  every  fertile  branch  ass 

With  blooming  gold,  and  blushes  like  the  morn. 
Each  passing  Hour  sheds  tribute  from  her  wings; 
And  still  new  beauties  meet  his  lonely  walk, 
And  loves  unfelt  attract  him.     Not  a  breeze 
Flies  o'er  the  meadow,  not  a  cloud  imbibes 
The  setting  sun's  effulgence,  not  a  strain 
From  all  the  tenants  of  the  warbling  shade 
Ascends,  but  whence  his  bosom  can  partake 
Fresh  pleasure,  unreprov'd.     Nor  thence  partakes 
Fresh  pleasure  only ;  for  the  attentive  mind, 
By  this  harmonious  action  on  her  powers,  eoo 

Becomes  herself  harmonious :  wont  so  oft 
In  outward  things  to  meditate  the  charm 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    III.  187 

Of  sacred  order,  soon  she  seeks  at  home 
To  find  a  kindred  order,  to  exert 
Within  herself  this  elegance  of  love, 
This  fair-inspir'd  delight;  her  temper'd  powers 
Kefine  at  length,  and  every  passion  wears 
A  chaster,  milder,  more  attractive  mien. 
;  But  if  to  ampler  prospects,  if  to  gaze 
|0n  Nature's  form,  where,  negligent  of  all  oc 

These  lesser  graces,  she  assumes  the  port 
/Of  that  Eternal  Majesty  that  weigh'd 
The  world's  foundations,  if-  to  these  the  mind 
Exalts  her  daring  eye  ;  then  mightier  far 
Will  be  the  change,  and  nobler.    Would  the  forms 
Of  servile  custom  cramp  her  generous  powers  ? 
Would  sordid  policies,  the  barbarous  growth 
Of  ignorance  and  rapine,  bow  her  down 
To  tame  pursuits,  to  indolence  and  fear? 
Lo !  she  appeals  to  Nature,  to  the  winds  sao 

And  rolling  waves,  the  sun's  unwearied  course, 
The  elements  and  seasons :  all  declare 
For  what  the  Eternal  Maker  has  ordain'd 
The  powers  of  man :  we  feel  within  ourselves 
His  energy  divine :  he  tells  the  heart, 
He  meant,  he  made  us  to  behold  and  love 
What  he  beholds  and  loves,  the  general  orb 
Of  life  and  being ;  to  be  great  like  him, 
Beneficent  and  active.     Thus  the  men  «» 

Whom  Nature's  works  can  charm,  with  God  himself 
Hold  converse ;  grow  familiar,  day  by  day, 
With  his  conceptions,  act  upon  his  plan, 
And  form  to  his  the  relish  of  their  souls. 


188      NOTES  ON  THE  PLEASURES  OP 


NOTES  ON  BOOK  I. 


VER.  151.  Say  ichy  was  man,  &c.]  In  apologizing  for  the  fre 
quent  negligences  of  the  sublimest  authors  of  Greece,  "those 
godlike  geniuses,"  says  Longinus,  "  were  well  assured  that 
Nature  had  not  intended  man  for  a  low-spirited  or  ignoble 
being;  but  bringing  us  into  life  and  the  midst  of  this  wide  uni 
verse,  as  before  a  multitude  assembled  at  some  heroic  solemnity, 
that  we  might  be  spectators  of  all  her  magnificence,  and  candi 
dates  high  in  emulation  for  the  prize  of  glory ;  she  has  there 
fore  implanted  in  our  souls  an  inextinguishable  love  of  every 
thing  great  and  exalted,  of  every  thing  which  appears  divine 
beyond  our  comprehension,  \\1ience  it  comes  to  pass,  that 
even  the  whole  Avorld  is  not  an  object  sufficient  for  the  depth 
and  rapidity  of  human  imagination,  which  often  sallies  forth 
beyond  the" limits  of  all  that  surrounds  us.  Let  any  man  cast 
his  eye  through  the  whole  circle  of  our  existence,  and  consider 
how  especially  it  abounds  in  excellent  and  grand  objects,  he 
•will  soon  acknowledge  for  what  enjoyments  and  pursuits  we 
•were  destined.  Thus,  by  the  very  propensity  of  nature,  we 
are  led  to  admire,  not  little  springs  or  shallow  rivulets,  however 
clear  and  delicious,  but  the  Nile,  the  Rhine,  the  Danube,  and, 
much  more  than  all,  the  Ocean,"  £c.  —  Dionj-s.  Longin.  de 
Sublirn.  §  xxiv. 

Ver.  202.  The  empyreal  waste.\  "Ne  se  peut-il  point  qu'il 
y  ait  un  grand  espace  au  del  a  de  la  region  des  etoilesV  Que  ce 
soit  le  ciel  empyree,  ou  non,  toujours  cet  espace  immense  qui 
environne  toute  cette  region  pourra  6 tre  rempli  de  bonheur  et ! 
de  gloire.  II  pourra  etre  con^u  comme  Tocean,  oQ  se  rendent 
les  fleuves  de  toutes  les  creatures  bienheureuses,  quand  elles 
scront  venues  a  leur  perfection  dans  le  systeme  des  etoiles." 
Leibnitz  dans  la  Theodicee,  part.  i.  §  19. 

Ver.  204.  Whose  unfading  U</ht,  £c.]  It  was  a  notion  of 
the  great  Mr.  Huygens,  that 'there  may  be  fixed  stars  at  such  a 
distance  from  our  solar  system,  as  that  their  light  should  not 
have  had  time  to  reach  us,  even  from  the  creation  of  the  world 
to  this  day. 

Ver.  234.  the  neglect 

Of  all  familiar  pruyjecfs,  £c.]  It  is  here  said, 
that,  in  consequence  of  the  love  of  novelty,  objects  which  at 
first  were  highly  delightful  to  the  mind  lose  that  effect  by 
repeated  attention  to  them.  But  the  instance  of  habit  is 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    I.  189 

opposed  to  this  observation ;  for  there,  objects  at  first  distaste 
ful  are  in  time  rendered  -entirely  agreeable  by  repeated  atten 
tion. 

The  difficulty  in  this  case  will  be  removed,  if  we  consider, 
that,  when  objects  at  first  agreeable  lose  that  influence  by  fre 
quently  recurring,  the  mind  is  wholly  passive,  and  the  percep 
tion  involuntary;  but  habit,  on  the  other  hand,  generally 
supposes  choice  and  activity  accompanying  it:  so  that  the 
pleasure  arises  here,  not  from'  the  object,  but  from  the  mind's 
conscious  determination  of  its  own  activity ;  and  consequently 
increases  in  proportion  to  the  frequency  of  that  determination. 

It  will  still  be  urged,  perhaps,  that  a  familiarity  with  dis 
agreeable  objects  renders  them  at  length  acceptable,  even  when 
there  is  no  room  for  the  mind  to  resolve  or  act  at  all.  In  this 
case,  the  appearance  must  be  accounted  for  one  of  these 
ways. 

f  he  pleasure  from  habit  may  be  merely  negative.  The 
•'---*•  -*•  •c— -•••  — re  uneasiness :  this  uneasiness  gradually  wears 

ind,  finding  it  at  last 


)ws  familiar;  and  the  mind 
,  reckons  its  situation  really  pleasurable,  com 
pared  with  what  it  had  experienced  before. 

The  dislike  conceived  of  the  object  at  first  might  be  owing 
to  prejudice  or  want  of  attention.  Consequently  the  mind, 
being  necessitated  to  review  it  often,  may  at  length'  perceive  its 
own  mistake,  and  be  reconciled  to  what  it  had  looked  on  with 
aversion.  In  which  case,  a  sort  of  instinctive  justice  naturally 
leads  it  to  make  amends  Cor  the  injury,  by  miming  toward  the 
other  extreme  of  fondness  and  attachment. 

Or,  lastly,  though  the  object  itself  should  always  continue 
disagreeable,  yet  circumstances  of  pleasure  or  good  fortune 
may  occur  along  with  it.  Thus  an  association  may  arise  in 
the  mind,  and  the  object  never  be  remembered  without  those 
pleasing  circumstances  attending  it;  by  which  means  the  dis 
agreeable  impression  which  it  at  first  occasioned  will  in  tune 
be  quite  obliterated. 

Ver.  240.  tins  desire 

Of  objects  new  and  strange  — .]  These  two  ideas 
are  oft  confounded';  though  it  is  evident  the  mere  novelty  of  an 
object  makes  it  agreeable,  even  where  the  mind  is  not  affected 
with  the  least  degree  of  wonder:  whereas  wonder  indeed  always 
implies  novelty,  being  never  excited  by  common  or  well-known 
appearances.  But  the  pleasure  in  both  cases  is  explicable 
from  the  same  final  cause,  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  and 
enlargement  of  our  views  of  nature:  on  this  account,  it  is 
natural  to  treat  of  them  together. 

Ver.  374.  Truth  mid  yood  are  one, 

And  beauty  diet  Us  in  them,  &c.]  "  Do  you  ima 
gine,"  says  Socrates  to  Anstippus,  "  that  what  is  good  is  not 
beautiful"?  Have  you  not  observed  that  these  appearances 
always  coincide  V  Virtue,  for  instance,  in  the  same  respect  as 


ff  rr  sr  T 


190  NOTES  ON  THE  PLEASURES  OP 

to  which  -we  call  it  good,  is  ever  acknowledged  to  be  beautiful 
also.  In  the  characters  of  men  we  always*  join  the  two  deno 
minations  together.  The  beauty  of  human  bodies  corresponds, 
in  like  manner,  with  that  economy  of  part?  which  constitutes 
them  good;  and,  in  every  circumstance  of  life,  the  same  object 
is  constantly  accounted  both  beautiful  and  good,  inasmuch  as 
it  answers  the  purposes  for  which  it  was  designed." —  Xcno- 
pliont.  Memorab.  St>crat.  1.  iii.  c.  8. 

This  excellent  observation  has  been  illustrated  and  extended 
by  the  noble  restorer  of  ancient  philosophy;  see  the  Charac 
teristics,  vol.  ii.  pp.  339  and  422,  and  vol.  iii.  p.  181.  And 
another  ingenious  author  has  particularly  shown,  that  it  holds 
in  the  general  laws  of  nature,  in  the  works  of  art,  and  the  con 
duct  of  the  sciences,  —  Inquiry  into  the  Original  of  our  Ideas  of 
Beauty  and  Virtue,  Treat,  i.  §  8.  As  to  the  connection  between 
beauty  and  truth,  there  are  two  opinions  concerning  it.  Some 
philosophers  assert  an  independent  and  invariable  law  in  na 
ture,  in  eonsequence  of  which  all  rational  beings  must  alike 
perceive  beauty  in  some  certain  proportions,  and  deformity  in 
the  contrary.  And  this  necessity  being  supposed  the  same 
with  that  which  commands  the  assent  or  dissent  of  the  under 
standing,  it  follows  of  course  that  beauty  is  founded  on  the 
universal  and  unchangeable  law  of  truth. 

But  others  there  are  who  believe  beauty  to  be  merely  a 
relative  and  arbitrary  thing;  that  indeed  it  was  a  benevolent 
provision  in  nature  to  annex  so  delightful  a  sensation  to  those 
objects  which  are  best  and  most  perfect  in  themselves,  that 
so  we  might  be  engaged  to  the  choice  of  them  at  once,  and 
without  staying  to  infer  their  usefulness  from  their  structure 
and  effects;  but  that  it  is  not  impossible,  in  a  physical  sense, 
that  two  beings,  of  equal  capacities  for  truth,  should  perceive, 
one  of  them  beauty,  and  the  other  deformity,  in  the  same  pro 
portions.  And  up'on  this  supposition,  by  that  trhth  which  is 
always  connected  with  beauty,  nothing  more  can  be  meant  than 
the  conformity  of  any  object  to  those  proportions  upon  which, 
after  careful  examination,  the  beauty  of  that  species  is  found 
to  depend.  Polycletus,  for  instance,  a  famous  ancient  sculptor, 
from  an  accurate  mensuration  of  the  several  parts  of  the  most 
perfect  human  bodies,  deduced  a  canon  or  system  of  proportions 
which  was  the  rule  of  all  succeeding  artists.  Suppose  a 
statue  modelled  according  to  this:  a  man  of  mere  natural 
taste,  upon  looking  at  it,  without  entering  into  its  proportions, 
confesses  andwdmires  its  beauty;  whereas  a  professor  of  the 
art  applies  his  measures  to  the  head,  the  neck,  or  the  hand, 
and,  without  attending  to  its  beauty,  pronounces  the  workman 
ship  to  be  just  and  true. 

This  the  Athenians  did  in  a  peculiar  manner,  by  the  wordi 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    II.  191 

Ver.  492.  As  when  Brutus  rose,  &c.]  Cicero  himself  de- 
icribes  this  fact:  "  Csesare  interfecto —  statim  crueiitum  altd 
extollens  M.  Brutus  pugionem,  Ciceronem  nominatim  excla- 
mavit,  atque  ei  recuperatani  libertatem  est  gratulatus."  —  Cic. 
Philipp.  ii.  12. 

Ver.  548.    Where  virtue,  rising  from  tlie  airful  depth 

Of  truth's  mysterious  bosom,  £c.  ]  According  to  the 
opinion  of  those  who  assert  moral  obligation  to  be  founded 
on  an  immutable  and  universal  law,  and  that  which  is  usually 
called  the  moral  sense,  to  be  determined  by  the  peculiar  tem 
per  of  the  imagination  and  the  earliest  associations  of  ideas. 

Ver.  591.  Lyceum^     The  school  of  Aristotle. 

Ver.  592.  Academus.]     The  school  of  Plato. 

Ver.  594.  Jlissus.]  One  of  the  rivers  on  which  Athens  was 
situated.  Plato,  in  some  of  his  finest  dialogues,  lays  the  scene 
of  the  conversation  with  Socrates  on  its  banks. 


NOTES  ON  BOOK  II. 

VER.  ID.  At  last  (he  Muses  rose,  £c.]  About  the  age  of  Hugh 
Capet,  founder  of  the  third  race  of  French  kings,  the  poets  of 
Provence  were  in  high  reputation;  a  sort  of  strolling  bards  or 
rhapsodists,  who  went  about  the  courts  of  princes  and  noble 
men,  entertaining  them  at  festivals  with  music  and  poetry. 
They  attempted  both  the  epic,  ode,  and  satire;  and  abounded 
in  a'  wild  and  fantastic  vein  of  fable,  partly  allegorical,  and 
partly  founded  on  traditionary  legends  of  the  Saracen  Avars. 
These  were  the  rudiments  of  Jfuliart'  poetry.  But  their  taste 
and  composition  must  have  oeen  extremely  barbarous,  as  we 
may  judge  by  those  who  followed  the  turn  of  their  fable  in 
much  politer  times;  such  as  Boiardo,  Bernardo,  Tasso,  Ari- 
osto,  £c. 

Ver.  21.  Valdusa.]  The  famous  retreat  of  Francisco  Pe- 
trarcha,  the  father  of  Italian  poetry,  and  his  mistress  Laura,  a 
ladv  of  Avignon. 

Ver.  22.  Arno.]  The  river  which  runs  by  Florence,  the 
birth-place  of  Dante  and  Boccaccio. 

Ver.  23.  Paribenope.}  Or  Naples,  the  birth  place  of  San- 
nazaro.  The  great  Torquato  Tasso  was  born  at  Sorento,  in  the 
kingdom  of  Naples. 

Ibid.  the  rage 

Of  dire  ambition,  &c.]  This  relates  to  the  cruel  wars 
among  the  republics  of  Italy,  and  abominable  politics  of  its 
little  princes,  about  the  fifteenth  century.  These,  at  last,  in 
conjunction  with  the  papal  power,  entirely  extinguished  the 


192  NOTES  ON  THE  PLEASURES  OP 


spirit  of  liberty  in  that  country,  and  established  that  abuse  of 
the  fine  arts  which  has  been  since  propagated  over  all  Europe.. 

Ver.  30.  Thus  from  their  yiirtnlians  torn,  the  tender  artu,  &c.j 
Nor  wer"  they  only  losers  by  the  separation.  For  philoso 
phy  itself,  to  use  the  words  of  a  noble  philosopher,  '*  being 
thus  severed  bv  the  sprightly  arts  and  sciences,  must  conse 
quently  grow  aronish,  insipid,  pedantic,  useless,  and  directly 
opposite  to  the  real  knowledge  and  practice  of  the  world." 
Insomuch  that  "  a  gentleman,"  says  another  excellent  writer, 
"  cannot  easily  bring  himself  to  like  so  austere  and  ungainly  a 
form;  so  greatly  is  it  changed  from  what  was  once  the  delight 
of  the  finest  gentlemen  of  antiquity,  and  their  recreation  after 
the  hurry  of  public  affairs!"  From  this  condition  it  cannot 
be  recovered  but  by  uniting  it  once  more  with  the  works  of 
imagination;  and  we  have  had  the  pleasure  of  observing  a 
very  great  progress  made  towards  their  union  in  England  within 
these  few  years.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  conceive  them  at  a 
greater  distance  from  each  other  than  at  the  Revolution,  when 
Locke  stood  at  the  head  of  one  party,  and  Dryden  of  the  other. 
But  the  general  spirit  of  liberty,  which  has'  ever  since  been 
growing,  naturally  invited  our  men  of  wit  and  genius  to  im 
prove  that  influence  which  the  arts  of  persuasion  gave  them 
with  the  people,  by  applving  them  to  subjects  of  importance 
to  society.  Thus  poetry  and  eloquence  became  considerable; 
and  philosophy  is  now  of  course  obliged  to  borrow  of  their 
embellishments,  in  order  even  to  gain  audience  with  the  pub 
lie. 

Ver.  1^7.  From  passion* s  power  alone,  &c.]     This  very  mys 
terious  kind  of  pleasure,  which  is  often  found  in  the  exercise* of 
passions  generally  counted  painful,  has  been  taken  notice  of  by 
several  authors.    Lucretius  resolves  it  into  self-love :  — 
Suave  mari  magno,  &c.  lib.  ii.  1. 

As  if  a  man  was  never  pleased  in  being  moved  at  the  distress 
of  a  tragedy,  without  a  cool  reflection  that  though  these  ficti 
tious  personages  were  so  unhappy,  yet  he  himself  was  perfectly 
at  ease  and  in  safety.  The  ingenious  author  of  the  "  Reflections 
Critiques  sur  la  Poesie  et  sur  la  Peinture,"  accounts  for  it  by 
the  general  delight  which  the  mind  takes  in  its  own  activity^ 
and  the  abhorrence  it  feels  of  an  indolent  and  inattentive  state; 
and  this,  joined  with  the  moral  approbation  of  its  own  temper, 
which  attends  these  emotions  when  natural  and  jjjst,  is  certainly 
the  true  foundation  of  the  pleasure,  which,  as  it  is  the  origin 
and  basis  of  tragedy  and  epic,  deserved  a,  very  particular  con 
sideration  in  this  poem. 

Ver.  304.  Inhabitant  of  earth,  &c.j  The  account  of  the 
economy  of  Providence  here  introduced,  as  the  most  proper 
to  calm  and  satisfy  the  mind  when  under  the  compunction  of 
private  evils,  seems  to  have  come  originally  from  the  Pytha 
gorean  school ;  but,  of  the  ancient  philosophers,  Plato  has  most 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    II.  193 


largely  insisted  upon  it,  has  established  it  with  all  the  strength 
of  his  capacious  understanding,  and  ennobled  it  with  all  the 
magnificence  of  his  divine  imagination.  He  has  one  passage 
so  full  and  clear  on  this  head,  that  I  am  persuaded  the  reader 
will  be  pleased  to  see  it  here,  though  somewhat  long.  Ad 
dressing  himself  to  such  as  are  not  satisfied  concerning  divine 
Providence:  "The  Being  who  presides  over  the  whole,"  says 
he,  "  has  disposed  and  complicated  all  things  for  the  hap 
piness  and  virtue  of  the  whole,  every  part  of  which,  according 
to  the  extent  of  its  influence,  does  and  suffers  what  is  fit  and 
proper.  One  of  these  parts  is  yours,  0  unhappy  man,  which 
though  in  itself  most  inconsiderable  and  minute,  yet  being  con 
nected  with  the  universe,  ever  seeks  to  co-operate  with  that 
supreme  order.  You  in  the  mean  time  are  ignorant  of  the  very 
end  for  which  ah1  particular  natures  are  brought  into  existence, 
that  the  all-comprehending  nature  of  the  whole  may  be  perfect 
and  happy ;  existing,  as  it  does,  not  for  your  sake,  but  the  cause 
and  reason  of  your  existence,  which,  as  in  the  symmetry  of 
every  artificial  work,  must  of  necessity  concur  with  the  gen 
eral  design  of  the  artist,  and  be  subservient  to  the  whole,  of 
which  it  is  a  part.  Your  complaint,  therefore,  is  ignorant  and 
groundless ;  since,  according  to  the  various  energy  of  creation 
and  the  common  laws  of  nature,  there  is  a  constant  provision 
of  that  which  is  best  at  the  same  time  for  you  and  for  the  whole. 
For  the  governing  Intelligence,  clearly  beholding  all  the  actions 
of  animated  and  self-moving  creatures,  and  that  mixture  of  good 
and  evil  which  diversifies  mem,  considered  first  of  all  by  what 
disposition  of  things,  and  by  what  situation  of  each  individual 
in  the  general  system,  vice  might  be  depressed  and  subdued, 
and  virtue  made  secure  of  victory  and  happiness  with  the 
greatest  facility  and  in  the  highest  degree  possible.  In  this 
manner  he  ordered,  through  the  entire  circle  of  being,  the  inter 
nal  constitution  of  every  mind,  where  should  be  its  station  in 
the  universal  fabric,  and  through  what  variety  of  circumstances 
it  should  proceed  in  the  whole  tenor  of  its  existence."  He  goes 
on  in  his  sublime  manner  to  assert  a  future  state  of  retribution, 
"  as  well  for  those  who,  by  the  exercise  of  good  dispositions 
being  harmonized  and  assimilated  into  the  divine  virtue,  are 
consequently  removed  to  a  place  of  unblemished  sanctity  and 
happiness,  as  of  those  who  by  the  most  flagitious  arts  have 
risen  from  contemptible  beginnings  to  the  greatest  affluence 
and  power,  and  whom  you  therefore  look  upon  as  unanswerable 
instances  of  negligence  in  the  gods,  because  you  are  ignorant 
of  the  purposes  to  which  they  are  subservient,  and  in  what 
manner  they  contribute  to  that  supreme  intention  of  good  to 
the  whole."  —  Plato  de  Leg.  x.  16. 

This  theory  has  been  delivered  of  late,  especially  abroad, 
hi  a  manner  which  subverts  the  freedom  of  human  actions; 
whereas  Plato  appears  very  careful  to  preserve  it,  and  has  been 
in  that  respect  imitated  by  the  best  of  his  followers. 


194  NOTES  ON  THE  PLEASURES  OF 

Ver.  321.  one  might  rise, 

One  order,  &c.J     See  the  Meditations  of  Antoni 
nus  arid  the  Characteristics,  passim. 

Ver.  355.  The  best  and  fairest,  &c.J  This  opinion  is  so  old, 
that  Timaeus  Locrus  calls  the  Supreme  Being  dri/j-tovp-yoc.  roti 
SeXriovoc.,  the  artificer  of  that  which  is  best;  and  represents 
him  as  resolving  in  the  beginning  to  produce  the  most  excel 
lent  work,  and  as  copying  the  world  must  exactly  from  his  own 
intelligible  and  essential  idea;  "so  that  it  yet' remains,  as  it 
was  at  first,  perfect  in  beauty,  and  will  never  stand  in  need 
of  any  correction  or  improvement."  There  can  be  no  room 
for  a  caution  here,  to  understand  the  expressions,  not  of  any- 
particular  circumstances  of  human  life  separately  considered, 
but  of  the  sum  or  universal  system  of  life  and  being.  See  also 
the  vision  at  the  end  of  the  Theodicee  of  Leibnitz. 

Ver.  350.  As  flame  ascends,  &c.]  This  opinion,  though  not 
held  by  Plato  nor  any  of  the  ancients,  is  yet  a  very  natural 
consequence  of  his  principles.  But  the  disquisition  is  too  coia 
plex  and  extensive  to  be  entered  upon  here. 

Ver.  755.  Philip.]    The  Macedonian. 


NOTES  ON  BOOK  III. 

VER.  18.  where  the  powers 

Of  fancy,  &c.]  The  influence  of  the  imagination 
on  the  conduct  of  life  is  one  of  the  most  important  points  in 
moral  philosophy.  It  were  easy,  by  an  induction  of  facts,  to 
prove  that  the  imagination  directs  almost  all  the  passions,  and 
mixes  with  almost  every  circumstance  of  action  or  pleasure. 
Let  any  man,  even  of  the  coldest  head  and  soberest  industry, 
analyse  the  idea  of  what  he  calls  his  interest ;  he  will  find  that 
it  consists  chiefly  of  certain  degrees  of  decency,  beauty,  and 
order,  variously  combined  into  one  system,  the  idol  which  he 
seeks  to  enjoy  by  labour,  hazard,  and  self-denial.  It  is  on  this 
account  of  the  last  consequence  to  regulate  these  images  by 
the  standard  of  nature  and  the  general  good;  otherwise  the 
imagination,  by  heightening  some  objects  beyond  their  real 
excellence  and  beauty,  or  by  representing  others  in  a  more 
odious  or  terrible  shape  than  they  deserve,  may  of  course  en 
gage  us  in  pursuits  utterly  inconsistent  with  the  moral  order 
of  things. 

If  it  be  objected  that  this  account  of  things  supposes  the 
passions  to  be  merely  accidental,  whereas  there  appears  in 


IMAGINATION.       BOOK    III.  193 

Borne  a  natural  and  hereditary  disposition  to  certain  passions 
prior  to  all  circumstances  of  education  or  fortune;  it  may  be 
answered,  that  though  no  man  is  born  ambitious  or  a  -miser, 
yet  he  may  inherit  from  his  parents  a  peculiar  temper  or  com 
plexion  of  mind,  which  shall  render  his  imagination  more 
liable  to  be  struck  with  some  particular  objects,  consequently 
dispose  him  to  form  opinions  of  good  and  ill,  and  entertain 
passions  of  a  particular  turn.  Some  men,  for  instance,  by  the 
original  frame  of  their  minds,  are  more  delighted  with  the  vast 
and  magnificent,  others  on  the  contrary  with  the  elegant  and 
geatle  aspects  of  nature.  And  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  the 
disposition  of  the  moral  powers  is  always  similar  to  this  of  the 
imagination ;  that  those  who  are  most  inclined  to  admire  pro 
digious  and  sublime  objects  in  the  physical  world  are  also  most 
inclined  to  applaud  examples  of  fortitude  and  heroic  virtue  in 
the  moral.  While  those  who  are  charmed  rather  with  the  deli 
cacy  and  sweetness  of  colours,  and  forms,  and  sounds,  never 
fail  in  like  manner  to  yield  the  preference  to  the  softer  scenes 
of  virtue  and  the  sympathies  of  a  domestic  life.  And  this  is 
sufficient  to  account  for  the  objection. 

Among  the  ancient  philosophers,  though  we  have  several 
hints  concerning  this  influence  of  the  imagination  upon  morals 
among  the  remains  of  the  Socratic  school,  yet  the  Stoics  were 
the  first  who  paid  it  a  due  attention.  Zerio,  their  founder, 
thought  it  impossible  to  preserve  any  tolerable  regularity  in  life, 
without  frequently  inspecting  those  pictures  or  appearances  of 
things,  which  the  imagination  otters  to  the  mind  (Diog.  Laert. 
1.  vii.).  The  meditations  of  M.  Aurelius,  and  the  discourses  of 
Epictetus,  are  full  of  the^  same  sentiment ;  insomuch  that  the 
latter  makes  the  Xp^<Kf  ofa  del.  <j>avraGiuv,  or  right  management 
of  the  fancies,  the  only  thing  for  which  we  are  accountable  to 
Providence,  and  without  which  a  man  is  no  other  than  stupid 
or  frantic.  Arrian.  1.  i.  c.  12,  and  1.  ii.  c.  22.  See  also  the 
Characteristics,  vol.  i.  from  p.  313  to  321,  where  this  stoical 
doctrine  is  embellished  with  all  the  elegance  and  graces  of 
Plato. 

Ver.  75.  how  Folly's  awkward  arts,  &c.]  Notwith 
standing  the  general  influence  of  ridicule  on  private  and  civil 
life,  as  well  as  on  learning  and  the  sciences,  it  has  been  almost 
constantly  neglected  or  misrepresented,  by  divines  especially. 
The  manner  of  treating  these  subjects  in  the  science  of  human 
nature  should  be  precisely  the  same  as  in  natural  philosophy ; 
from  particular  facts  to  investigate  the  stated  order  in  which 
they  appear,  and  then  apply  the  general  law,  thus  discovered, 
to  the  explication  of  other  appearances  and  the  improvement  of 
useful  arts. 

Ver.  84.  Behold  the  foremost  band,  &c.]  The  first  and  most 
general  source  of  ridicule  in  the  characters  of  men  is  vanity, 
or  self-applause  for  some  desirable  quality  or  possession  which 
evidently  does  not  belong  to  those  who  assume  it. 


196  NOTES    ON    THE    PLEASURES    OF 

Ver.  121.  Then  comes  the  second  order,  &c.  Ridicule  from 
the  same  vanity,  where,  though  the  possession  be  real,  yet  no 
merit  can  arise  from  it,  because  of  some  particular  circum 
stances,  which,  though  obvious  to  the  spectator,  are  yet  over 
looked  by  the  ridiculous  character. 

Ver.  152.  Another  tribe  succeeds,  &c.]  Ridicule  from  a  notion 
of  excellence  in  particular  objects  disproportioned  to  their 
intrinsic  value,  and  inconsistent  with  the  order  of  nature. 

Ver.  191.  But  now,  ye  gay,  &c.J  Ridicule  from  a  notion 
of  excellence,  when  the  object  is  absolutely  odious  or  con 
temptible.  This  is  the  highest  degree  of  the  ridiculous ;  as  in 
the  affectation  of  diseases  or  vices. 

Ver.  207.  Thus  far  triumphant,  £c.J  Ridicule  from  false 
shame  or  groundless  fear. 

Ver.  228.  Last  of  the,  &c.J  Ridicule  from  the  ignorance  of 
such  things  as  our  circumstances  require  us  to  know. 

Ver.  248.  Suffice  it  to  have  said,  &c.]  By  comparing  these 
general  sources  of  ridicule  with  each  other,  and  examining  the 
ridiculous  in  other  objects,  we  may  obtain  a  general  definition 
of  it,  equally  applicable  to  every  species.  The  most  important 
circumstance  of  this  definition  is  laid  down  in  the  lines  referred 
to;  but  others  more  minute  we  shall  subjoin  here.  Aristotle's 
account  of  the  matter  seems  both  imperfect  and  false;  TO  yap 
yeholo'v,  says  he,  iariv  audpTrjud  TI  ital  ala^oc,  avudvvov  KOI  ov 
<j)6apTiK.6v :  "  the  ridiculous  is  some  certain  fault  or  turpitude 
without  pain,  and  not  destructive  to  its  subject"  (Poet.  c.  5). 
For  allowing  it  to  be  true,  as  it  is  not,  that  the  ridiculous  is  never 
accompanied  with  pain,  yet'  we  might  produce  many  instances 
of  such  a  fault  or  turpitude  which  cannot  with  any  tolerable 
propriety  be  called  ridiculous.  So  that  the  definition  does  not 
distinguish  the  thing  designed.  Nay,  farther:  even  when  we 
perceive  the  turpitude  tending  to  the  destruction  of  its  subject, 
we  may  still  be  sensible  of  a  ridiculous  appearance,  till  the  ruin 
become  imminent,  and  the  keener  sensations  of  pity  or  terror 
banish  the  ludicrous  apprehension  from  our  minds.  For  the 
sensation  of  ridicule  is  not  a  bare  perception  of  the  agreement 
or  disagreement  of  ideas ;  but  a  passion  or  emotion  of  the  mind 
consequential  to  that  perception.  So  that  the  mind  may  per 
ceive  the  agreement  or  disagreement,  and  yet  not  feel  the 
ridiculous,  because  it  is  engrossed  by  a  more  violent  emotion. 
Thus  it  happens  that  some  men  think  those  objects  ridiculous 
to  which  others  cannot  endure  to  apply  the  name,  because  in 
them  they  excite  a  much  intenser  and  more  important  feeling. 
And  this  difference,  among  other  causes,  has  brought  a  good 
deal  of  confusion  into  this  question. 

That  which  makes  objects  ridiculous  is  some  ground  of 
admiration  or  esteem  connected  with  other  more  general  cir 
cumstances  comparatively  worthless  or  deformed ;  or  it  is  some 
circumstance  of  turpitude  or  deformity  connected  with  what  is 
in  general  excellent  or  beautiful :  the  inconsistent  properties 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    III.  197 

existing  either  in  the  objects  themselves,  or  in  the  apprehension 
of  the  person  to  whom  they  relate ;  belonging  always  to  the 
same  order  or  class  of  being;  implying  sentiment  or  design; 
and  exciting  no  acute  or  vehement  emotion  of  the  heart. 

To  prove  the  Several  parts  of  this  definition :  The  appear 
ance  of  excellence  or  beauty  connected  with  a  general  con 
dition  comparatively  sordid  or  deformed,  is  ridiculous;  for 
instance,  pompous  pretensions  of  wisdom  joined  with  ignorance 
or  folly  in  the  Socrates  of  Aristophanes,  and  the  ostentations 
of  military  glory  with  cowardice  and  stupidity  in  the  Thraso  of 
Terence. 

The  appearance  of  deformity  or  turpitude  in  conjunction 
with  what  is  in  general  excellent" or  venerable,  is  also  ridicu 
lous;  for  instance,  the  personal  weaknesses  of  a  magistrate 
appearing  in  the  solemn  and  public  functions  of  his  station. 

The  incongruous  properties  may  either  exist  in  the  objects 
themselves,  or  in  apprehension  of  the  person  to  whom  they 
relate.  In  the  last-mentioned  instance,  they  both  exist  in  the 
objects ;  in  the  instances  from  Aristophanes  and  Terence,  one 
of  them  is  objective  and  real,  the  other  only  founded  in  the 
apprehension  of  the  ridiculous  character. 

The  inconsistent  properties  must  belong  to  the  same  order 
or  class  of  being.  A  coxcomb  in  fine  clothes,  bedaubed  by 
accident  in  foul  weather,  is  a  ridiculous  object;  because  his 
general  apprehension  of  excellence  and  esteem  is  referred  to 
the  splendour  and  expense  of  his  dress.  A  man  of  sense  and 
merit,  in  the  same  circumstances,  is  not  counted  ridiculous ; 
because  the  general  ground  of  excellence  and  esteem  in  him  is, 
both  in  fact  and  in  his  own  apprehension,  of  a  very  different 
species. 

Every  ridiculous  object  implies  sentiment  or  design.  A 
column  placed  by  an  architect  without  a  capital  or  base  is 
laughed  at:  the  same  column  in  a  ruin  causes  a  very  different 
sensation. 

And,  lastly,  the  occurrence  must  excite  no  acute  or  vehe 
ment  emotion  of  the  heart,  such  as  terror,  pity,  or  indignation ; 
for  in  that  case,  as  was  observed  above,  the  mind  is  not  at 
leisure  to  contemplate  the  ridiculous. 

Whether  any  appearance  not  ridiculous  be  involved  in  this 
description,  and  whether  it  comprehend  every  species  and 
form  of  the  ridiculous,  must  be  determined  by  repeated  appli 
cations  of  it  to  particular  instances. 

Ver.  259.  Ask  we  for  what  fair  end,  &c.J  Since  it  is  beyond 
all  contradiction  evident  that  we  have  a  natural  sense  or  feeling 
of  the  ridiculous,  and  since  so  good  a  reason  may  be  assigned 
to  justify  the  Supreme  Being  for  bestowing  it,  one  cannot,  with 
out  astonishment,  reflect  on  the  conduct  of  those  men  who 
imagine  it  is  for  the  service  of  true  religion  to  vilify  and  blacken 
it  without  distinction,  and  endeavour  to  persuade  us  that  it  is 
never  applied  but  in  a  bad  cause.  Ridicule  is  not  concerned 


198  NOTES    ON    THE    PLEASURES    OP 

•with  mere  speculative  truth  or  falsehood.  It  is  not  in  abstract 
propositions  or  theorems,  but  in  actions  and  passions,  good  and 
evil,  beauty  and  deformity,  that  we  find  materials  for  it ;  and 
all  these  terms  are  relative,  implying  approbation  or  blame. 
To  ask,  then,  whether  ridicule  be  a  test  of  truth  is,  in  other 
words,  to  ask  whether  that  which  is  ridiculous  can  be  morally 
true,  can  be  just  and  becoming;  or  whether  that  which  is  just 
and  becoming  can  be  ridiculous.  A  question  that  does  not 
deserve  a  serious  answer.  For  it  is  most  evident,  that,  as  in  a 
metaphysical  proposition  offered  to  the  understanding  for  its 
assent,  the  faculty  of  reason  examines  the  terms  of  the  propo 
sition,  and  finding  one  idea,  which  was  supposed  equal  to 
another,  to  be  in  fact  unequal,  of  consequence  rejects  the  pro 
position  as  a  falsehood;  so,  in  objects  offered  to  the  mind  for 
its  esteem  or  applause,  the  faculty  of  ridicule,  finding  au  incon 
gruity  in  the  claim,  urges  the  mind  to  reject  it  with  laughter 
and  contempt.  When,  therefore,  we  observe  such  a  claim 
obtruded  upon  mankind,  and  the  inconsistent  circumstances 
carefully  concealed  from  the  eye  of  the  public,  it  is  our  business, 
if  the  matter  be  of  importance  to  society,  to  drag  out  those 
latent  circumstances,  and,  by  setting  them  in  full  view,  to  con 
vince  the  world  how  ridiculous  the  claim  is:  and  thus  a  double 
advantage  is  gained;  for  we  both  detect  the  moral  falsehood 
sooner  than  in  the  way  of  speculative  inquiry,  and  impress  the 
minds  of  men  with  a  stronger  sense  of  the  vanity  and  error  of 
its  authors.  And  this,  and  no  more,  is  meant  by  the  application 
of  ridicule. 

Bat  it  is  said,  the  practice  is  dangerous,  and  may  be  incon 
sistent  with  the  regard  we  owe  to  objects  of  real  dignity  and 
excellence.  I  answer,  the  practice  fairly  managed  can  never 
be  dangerous:  men  maybe  dishonest  in  obtruding  circum 
stances  foreign  to  the  object,  and  we  may  be  inadvertent  in 
allowing  those  circumstances  to  impose  upon  us ;  but  the  sense 
of  ridicule  always  judges  right.  The  Socrates  of  Aristophanes 
is  as  truly  ridiculous  a  character  as  ever  was  drawn:  true; 
but  it  is  not  the  character  of  Socrates,  the  divine  moralist,  and 
father  of  ancient  wisdom.  What  then?  did  the  ridicule  of  the 
poet  hinder  the  philosopher  from  detecting  and  disclaiming 
those  foreign  circumstances  which  he  had  falsely  introduced 
into  his  character,  and  thus  rendered  the  satirist  doubly  ridi 
culous  in  his  turn  ?  No ;  but  it  nevertheless  had  an  ill  inn  uence 
on  the  minds  of  the  people.  And  so  has  the  reasoning  of 
Spinoza  made  many  atheists:  he  has  founded  it,  indeed,  on 
suppositions  utterly  false ;  but  allow  him  these,  and  his  conclu 
sions  are  unavoidably  true.  And  if  we  must  reject  the  use  of 
ridicule,  because,  by  the  imposition  of  false  circumstances, 
things  may  be  made  to  seem  ridiculous  which  are  not  so  in 
themselves;  why  we  ought  not  in  the  same  manner  to  reject 
the  use  of  reason,  because,  by  proceeding  on  false  principles, 
conclusions  will  appear  true  which  are  impossible  in  nature. 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  199 

let  the  vehement  and  obstinate  declaimers  against  ridicule 
determine. 

Ver.  285.  The  inexpressive  setnblance,  &c.]  This  similitude 
is  the  foundation  of  almost  all  the  ornaments  of  poetic  dic 
tion. 

Ver.  326.  Two  faithful  needles,  &c.]  See  the  elegant  poem 
recited  by  Cardinal  Bembo  in  the  character  of  Lucretius; 
Strada  Prolus.  vi.  Academ.  2,  c.  y. 

Ver.  348.  By  these  mysterious  ties,  &c.]  The  act  of  remem 
bering  seems  almost  wholly  to  depend  on  the  association  of 
ideas. 

Ver.  411.  Mo  its  proper  vehicle,  &c.]  This  relates  to  the 
different  sorts  of  corporeal  mediums,  by  which  the  ideas  of  the 
artists  are  rendered  palpable  to  the  senses ;  as  by  sounds  in 
music,  by  lines  and  shadows  in  painting,  by  diction  in  poetry, 
&c. 

Ver.  547.  One  pursues 

The  vast  alone,  &c.]     See  the  note  to  ver.  18  of 
this  book. 

Ver.  558.   Waller  longs,  &c.j 

0 !  how  I  long  my  careless  limbs  to  lay 
Under  the  plantane  shade ;  and  all  the  day 
With  amorous  airs  my  fancy  entertain,  &c. 

WALLER,  Battle  of  the  Summer  Islands,  Canto  I. 
And  again, 

While  in  the  park  I  sing,  the  list'ning  deer 
Attend  my  passion,  and  forget  to  fear,  &c. 

At  Pens-hurst. 

Ver.  593.  Not  a  breeze,  &c.J  That  this  account  may  not 
appear  rather  poetically  extravagant  than  just  in  philosophy, 
it  may  be  proper  to  produce  the  sentiment  of  one  of  the  great 
est,  wisest,  and  best  of  men  on  this  head ;  one  so  little  to  be 
suspected  of  partiality  in  the  case,  that  he  reckons  it  among 
those  favours  for  which  he  was  especially  thankful  to  the  gods, 
that  they  had  not  suffered  him  to  make  any  great  proficiency 
in  the  arts  of  eloquence  and  poetry,  lest  by  that  means  he 
should  have  been  diverted  from  pursuits  of  more  importance 
to  his  high  station.  Speaking  of  the  beauty  of  universal  nature, 
he  observes,  that  there  "  is  a  pleasing  and  graceful  aspect  in 
every  object  we  perceive,"  when  once  we  consider  its  connec 
tion  with  that  general  order.  He  instances  in  many  things 
which  at  first  sight  would  be  thought  rather  deformities ;  and 
then  adds,  "  that  a  man  who  enjoys  a  sensibility  of  temper,  with 
a  just  comprehension  of  the  universal  order,  will  discern  many 
amiable  things,  not  credible  to  every  mind,  but  to  those  alone 
who  have  entered  into  an  honourable  familiarity  with  nature 
and  her  works."  —  M.  Antonin.  iii.  2. 


THE 


PLEASURES  OF  THE  IMAGINATION. 


A    POEM. 


GENERAL   ARGUMENT. 

THE  pleasures  of  the  imagination  proceed  either  from  natural 
objects,  as  from  a  flourishing  grove,  a  clear  and  murmuring 
fountain,  a  calm  sea  by  moonlight ;  or  from  works  of  art,  such 
as  a  noble  edifice,  a  musical  tune,  a  statue,  a  picture,  a  poem. 
In  treating  of  these  pleasures,  we  must  begin  with  the  former 
class,  they  being  original  to  the  other;  and  nothing  more  being 
necessary,  in  order  to  explain  them,  than  a  view  of  our  natural 
inclination  toward  greatness  and  beauty,  and  of  those  appear 
ances,  in  the  world  around  us,  to  which  that  inclination  is 
adapted.  This  is  the  subject  of  the  first  book  of  the  following 
poem. 

But  the  pleasures  which  we  receive  from  the  elegant  arts, 
from  music,  sculpture,  painting,  and  poetry,  are  much  more 
various  and  complicated.  In  them  (besides  greatness  and 
beauty,  or  forms  proper  to  the  imagination)  we  find  interwoven 
frequent  representations  of  truth,  of  virtue  and  vice,  of  circum 
stances  proper  to  move  us  with  laughter,  or  to  excite  in  us 
pity,  fear,  and  the  other  passions.  These  moral  and  intellec 
tual  objects  are  described  hi  the  second  book,  to  which  the 
third  properly  belongs  as  an  episode,  though  too  large  to  have 
been  included  in  it. 


GENERAL    ARGUMENT.  201 

With  the  above  mentioned  causes  of  pleasure,  which  are 
universal  in  the  course  of  human  life,  and  appertain  to  our 
higher  faculties,  many  others  do  generally  occur,  more  limited 
in  their  operation,  or  of  an  inferior  origin :  such  are  the  novelty 
of  objects,  the  association  of  ideas,  affections  of  the  bodily 
senses,  influences  of  education,  national  habits,  and  the  like. 
To  illustrate  these,  and  from  the  whole  to  determine  the  cha 
racter  of  a  perfect  taste,  is  the  argument  of  the  fourth  book. 

Hitherto  the  pleasures  of  the  imagination  belong  to  the 
human  species  in  general.  But  there  are  certain  particular 
men,  whose  imagination  is  endowed  with  powers,  and  suscep 
tible  of  pleasures,  which  the  generality  of  mankind  never 
participate.  These  are  the  men  of  genius,  destined  by  nature 
to  excel  in  one  or  other  of  the  arts  already  mentioned.  It  is 
proposed,  therefore,  in  the  last  place,  to  delineate  that  genius 
which  hi  some  degree  appears  commpn  to  them  all ;  yet  with 
a  more  peculiar  consideration  of  poetry,  inasmuch  as  poetry 
is  the  most  extensive  of  those  arts,  the  most  philosophical,  and 
the  most  useful.  » 


202  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 


BOOK   I.     1757. 


ARGUMENT. 

THE  subject  proposed.  Dedication.  The  ideas  of  the  Supreme  Being, 
the  exemplars  of  all  things.  The  variety  of  constitution  in  the 
minds  of  men,  with  its  final  cause.  The  general  character  of  a  fine 
imagination.  All  the  immediate  pleasures  of  the  human  imagina 
tion  proceed  either  from  Greatness  or  Beauty  in  external  objects. 
The  pleasure  from  Greatness,  with  its  final  cause.  The  natural 
connection  of  Beauty  with  truth*  and  good.  The  different  orders 
of  Beauty  in  different  objects.  The  infinite  and  all-comprehending 
form  of  Beauty,  which  belongs  to  the  Divine  Mind.  The  partial 
and  artificial  forms  of  Beauty,  which  belong  to  inferior  intellectual 
beings.  The  origin  and  general  conduct  of  beauty  in  man.  The 
subordination  of  local  beauties  to  the  beauty  of  the  Universe.  Con 
clusion. 

WITH  what  enchantment  Nature's  goodly  scene 
Attracts  the  sense  of  mortals ;  how  the  mind 
For  its  own  eye  doth  objects  nobler  still 
Prepare ;  how  men  by  various  lessons  learn 
To  judge  of  Beauty's  praise ;  what  raptures  fill 
The  breast  with  fancy's  native  arts  endow'd, 
And  what  true  culture  guides  it  to  renown ; 
My  verse  unfolds.     Ye  gods,  or  godlike  powers, 
Ye  guardians  of  the  sacred  task,  attend 
Propitious.     Hand  in  hand  around  your  bard      10 
Move  in  majestic  measures,  leading  on 

*  Truth  is  here  taken,  not  in  a  logical,  but  in  a  mixed  and 
popular  sense,  or  for  what  has  been  called  the  truth  of  things; 
denoting  as  well  their  natural  and  regular  condition,  as  a  pro 
per  estimate  or  judgment  concerning  them. 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  203 

His  doubtful  step  through  many  a  solemn  path, 

Conscious  of  secrets  which  to  human  sight 

Ye  only  can  reveal.     Be  great  in  him : 

And  let  your  favour  make  him  wise  to  speak 

Of  all  your  wondrous  empire ;  with  a  voice 

So  temper'd  to  his  theme,  that  those  who  hear 

May  yield  perpetual  homage  to  yourselves. 

Thou  chief,  O  daughter  of  eternal  Love, 

Whate'er  thy  name ;  or  Muse  or  Grace,  ador'd 

By  Grecian  prophets ;  to  the  sons  of  Heaven      21 

Known,  while  with  deep  amazement  thou  dost  there 

The  perfect  counsels  read,  the  ideas  old, 

Of  thine  omniscient  Father ;  known  on  earth 

By  the  still  horror  and  the  blissful  tear 

With  which  thou  seizest  on  the  soul  of  man ; 

Thou  chief,  Poetic  Spirit,  from  the  banks 

Of  Avon,  whence  thy  holy  fingers  cull 

Fresh  flowers  and  dews  to  sprinkle  on  the  turf    SB 

Where  Shakespeare  lies,  be  present.      And  with 

Let  Fiction  come ;  on  her  aerial  wings  [thee 

Wafting  ten  thousand  colours ;  which  in  sport, 

By  the  light  glances  of  her  magic  eye, 

She  blends  and  shifts  at  will  thro'  countless  forms, 

Her  wild  creation.     Goddess  of  the  lyre, 

Whose  awful  tones  control  the  moving  sphere, 

Wilt  thou,  eternal  Harmony,  descend, 

And  join  this  happy  train  ?  for  with  thee  comes 

The  guide,  the  guardian  of  their  mystic  rites, 

Wise  Order ;  and  where  Order  deigns  to  come, 

Her  sister,  Liberty,  will  not  be  far.  « 


204  THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Be  present,  all  ye  Genii,  who  conduct 
Of  youthful  bards  the  lonely  wandering  step 
New  to  your  springs  and  shades;  who  touch  their  ear 
With  finer  sounds,  and  heighten  to  their  eye     / 
The  pomp  of  nature,  and  before  them  place 
The  fairest,  loftiest  countenance  of  things. 

Nor  thou,  my  Dyson,  to  the  lay  refuse 
Thy  wonted  partial  audience.     What  though  first 
In  years  unseason'd,  haply  ere  the  sports  BO 

Of  childhood  yet  were  o'er,  the  adventurous  lay 
With  many  splendid  prospects,  many  charms, 
Allur'd  my  heart,  nor  conscious  whence  they  sprung, 
Nor  heedful  of  their  end  ?  yet  serious  Truth 
Her  empire  o'er  the  calm,  sequester'd  theme 
Asserted  soon ;  while  Falsehood's  evil  brood, 
Vice  and  deceitful  Pleasure,  she  at  once 
Excluded,  and  my  fancy's  careless  toil 
Drew  to  the  better  cause.     Maturer  aid 
Thy  friendship  added  in  the  paths  of  life,  eo 

The  busy  paths,  my  unaccustom'd  feet 
Preserving ;  nor  to  Truth's  recess  divine, 
Through  this  wide  argument's  unbeaten  space, 
Withholding  surer  guidance ;  while  by  turns 
We  trac'd  the  sages  old,  or  while  the  queen 
Of  sciences  (whom  manners  and  the  mind 
Acknowledge)  to  my  true  companion's  voice 
Not  unattentive,  o'er  the  wintry  lamp 
Inclin'd  her  sceptre,  favouring.     Now  the  fates 
Have  other  tasks  impos'd :  —  to  thee,  my  friend, 
The  ministry  of  freedom  and  the  faith 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  205 

Of  popular  decrees,  in  early  youth,  TI 

Not  vainly  they  committed  :  me  they  sent 

To  wait  on  pain ;  and  silent  arts  to  urge, 

Inglorious :  not  ignoble ;  if  my  cares, 

To  such  as  languish  on  a  grievous  bed, 

Ease  and  the  sweet  forgetfulness  of  ill 

Conciliate :  nor  delightless  ;  if  the  Muse, 

Her  shades  to  visit  and  to  taste  her  springs, 

If  some  distinguish'd  hours  the  bounteous  Muse 

Impart,  and  grant  (what  she,  and  she  alone,        at 

Can  grant  to  mortals)  that  my  hand  those  wreaths 

Of  fame  and  honest  favour,  which  the  bless'd 

Wear  in  Elysium,  and  which  never  felt 

The  breath  of  envy  or  malignant  tongues, 

That  these  my  hand  for  thee  and  for  myself 

May  gather.     Meanwhile,  O  my  faithful  friend, 

0  early  chosen,  ever  found  the  same, 

And  trusted  and  belov'd ;  once  more  the  verse 

Long  destin'd,  always  obvious  to  thine  ear,  90 

Attend,  indulgent ;  so  in  latest  years, 

When  time  thy  head  with  honours  shall  have  cloth'd 

Sacred  to  even  virtue,  may  thy  mind, 

Amid  the  calm  review  of  seasons  past, 

Fair  offices  of  friendship  or  kind  peace 

Or  public  zeal,  may  then  thy  mind  well-pleas'd 

Recall  these  happy  studies  of  our  prime. 

From  Heaven  my  strains  begin ;  from  Heaven 

descends 

The  flame  of  genius  to  the  chosen  breast,  100 

And  beauty  with  poetic  wonder  join'd, 


206  THE   PLEASURES    OF    THE 

And  inspiration.     Ere  the  rising  sun 

Shone  o'er  the  deep,  or  'mid  the  vault  of  night 

The  moojn  her  silver  lamp  suspended ;  ere 

The  vales  with  springs  were  water'd,  or  with  groves 

Of  oak  or  pine  the  ancient  hills  were  crown'd ; 

Then  the  Great  Spirit,  whom  his  works  adore, 

Within  his  own  deep  essence  view'd  the  forms, 

The  forms  eternal  of  created  things : 

The  radiant  sun ;  the  moon's  nocturnal  lamp ; 

The  mountains  and  the  streams ;  the  ample  stores 

Of  earth,  of  heaven,  of  nature.     From  the  first, 

On  that  full  scene  his  love  divine  he  fix'd,  iia 

His  admiration ;  till,  in  time  complete, 

What  he  admir'd  and  lov'd,  his  vital  power 

Unfolded  into  being.     Hence  the  breath 

Of  life  informing  each  organic  frame  ; 

Hence  the  green  earth,  and  wild-resounding  waves ; 

Hence  light  and  shade,  alternate  ;  warmth  and  cold ; 

And  bright  autumnal  skies,  and  vernal  showers, 

And  all  the  fair  variety  of  things.  120 

But  not  alike  to  every  mortal  eye 
Is  this  great  scene  unveil'd.    For  while  the  claims 
Of  social  life  to  different  labours  urge 
The  active  powers  of  man,  with  wisest  care 
Hath  Nature  on  the  multitude  of  minds 
Impress'd  a  various  bias  ;  and  to  each 
Decreed  its  province  in  the  common  toiL 
To  some  she  taught  the  fabric  of  the  sphere, 
The  changeful  moon,  the  circuit  of  the  stars, 
The  golden  zones  of  heaven :  to  some  she  gave 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  207 

To  search  the  story  of  eternal  thought ;  w 

Of  space  and  time ;  of  fate's  unbroken  chain, 
And  will's  quick  movement :  others  by  the  hand 
She  led  o'er  vales  and  mountains,  to  explore 
What  healing  virtue  dwells  in  every  vein 
Of  herbs  or  trees.     But  some  to  nobler  hopes 
Were  destin'd  :  some  within  a  finer  mould 
She  wrought,  arid  temper'd  with  a  purer  flame. 
To  these  the  Sire  Omnipotent  unfolds, 
In  fuller  aspects  and  with  fairer  lights,  140 

This  picture  of  the  world.     Through  every  part 
They  trace  the  lofty  sketches  of  his  hand : 
In  earth  or  air,  the  meadow's  flowery  store, 
The  moon's  mild  radiance,  or  the  virgin's  mien 
Dress'd  in  attractive  smiles,  they  see  portray'd 
(As  far  as  mortal  eyes  the  portrait  scan) 
Those  lineaments  of  beauty  which  delight 
The  Mind  Supreme.     They  also  feel  their  force, 
Enamour'd :  they  partake  the  eternal  joy. 

For  as  old  Memnon's  image  long  renown'd      wo 
Through  fabling  Egypt,  at  the  genial  touch 
Of  morning,  from  its  inmost  frame  sent  forth 
Spontaneous  music ;  so  doth  Nature's  hand, 
To  certain  attributes  which  matter  claims, 
Adapt  the  finer  organs  of  the  mind : 
So  the  glad  impulse  of  those  kindred  powers 
(Of  form,  of  colour's  cheerful  pomp,  of  sound 
Melodious,  or  of  motion  aptly  sped) 
Detains  the  enliven'd  sense ;  till  soon  the  soul 
Feels  the  deep  concord,  and  assents  through  all 


208  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

Her  functions.     Then  the  charm  by  fate  prepar'd 
Diffuseth  its  enchantment.     Fancy  dreams,         iai 
Rapt  into  high  discourse  with  prophets  old, 
And  wandering  through  Elysium,  Fancy  dreams 
Of  sacred  fountains,  of  o'ershadowing  groves, 
Whose  walks  with  godlike  harmony  resound : 
Fountains,  which  Homer  visits ;  happy  groves, 
Where  Milton  dwells :  the  intellectual  power, 
On  the  mind's  throne,  suspends  his  graver  cares, 
And  smiles  :  the  passions,  to  divine  repose,         iro 
Persuaded  yield :  and  love  and  joy  alone 
Are  waking ;  love  and  joy,  such  as  await 
An  angel's  meditation.*    0 !  attend, 
Whoe'er  thou  art  whom  these  delights  can  touch ; 
Whom  Nature's  aspect,  Nature's  simple  garb, 
Can  thus  command  ;  O !  listen  to  my  song  ; 
And  I  will  guide  thee  to  her  blissful  walks, 
And  teach  thy  solitude  her  voice  to  hear, 
And  point  her  gracious  features  to  thy  view.       ire 
Know  then,  whate'er  of  the  world's  ancient  store, 
Whate'er  of  mimic  Art's  reflected  scenes, 
With  love  and  admiration  thus  inspire 
Attentive  Fancy,  her  delighted  sons 
In  two  illustrious  orders  comprehend, 
Self-taught :  from  him  whose  rustic  toil  the  lark 
Cheers  warbling,  to  the  bard  whose  daring  thoughts 
Range  the  full  orb  of  being,  still  the  form, 
Which  fancy  worships,  or  sublime  or  fair 
Her  votaries  proclaim.     I  see  them  dawn  : 
I  see  the  radiant  visions  where  they  rise,  iw 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    I.  209 

More  lovely  than  when  Lucifer  displays 

His  glittering  forehead  through  the  gates  of  morn, 

To  lead  the  train  of  Phrebus  and  the  Spring. 

Say,  why  was  man  so  eminently  rais'd 
Amid  the  vast  creation ;  why  impower'd 
Through  life  and  death  to  dart  his  watchful  eye, 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  limit  of  his  frame ; 
But  that  the  Omnipotent  might  send  him  forth, 
In  sight  of  angels  and  immortal  minds, 
As  on  an  ample  theatre  to  join  •  200 

In  contest  with  his  equals,  who  shall  best 
The  task  achieve,  the  course  of  noble  toils, 
By  wisdom  and  by  mercy  preordain'd  ? 
Might  send  him  forth  the  sovereign  good  to  learn ; 
To  chase  each  meaner  purpose  from  his  breast ; 
And  through  the  mists  of  passion  and  of  sense, 
And  through  the  pelting  storms  of  chance  and  pain, 
To  hold  straight  on  with  constant  heart  and  eye 
Still  fix'd  upon  his  everlasting  palm,  [burns 

The  approving  smile  of  Heaven  ?    Else  wherefore 
In  mortal  bosoms  this  unquenched  hope,  211 

That  seeks  from  day  to  day  sublimer  ends ; 
Happy,  though  restless  ?     Why  departs  the  soul 
Wide  from  the  track  and  journey  of  her  times, 
To  grasp  the  good  she  knows  not  ?     In  the  field 
Of  things  which  may  be,  in  the  spacious  field 
Qf  science,  potent  arts,  or  dreadful  arms, 
To  raise  up  scenes  in  which  her  own  desires 
Contented  may  repose ;  when  things,  which  are, 
Pall  on  her  temper,  like  a  twice-told  tale :  220 


210  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

Her  temper,  still  demanding  to  be  free ; 
Spurning  the  rude  control  of  wilful  might ; 
Proud  of  her  dangers  brav'd,  her  griefs  endur'd, 
Her  strength  severely  prov'd  ?     To  these   high 

aims, 

Which  reason  and  affection  prompt  in  man, 
Not  adverse  nor  unapt  hath  Nature  fram'd 
His  bold  imagination.     For,  amid 
The  various  forms  which  this  full  world  presents 
Like  rivals  to  his  choice,  what  human  breast 
E'er  doubts,  before  the  transient  and  minute,       230 
To  prize  the  vast,  the  stable,  the  sublime  ? 
Who, -that  from  heights  aerial  sends  his  eye 
Around  a  wild  horizon,  and  surveys 
Indus  or  Ganges  rolling  his  broad  wave 
Through  mountains,  plains,  thro'  spacious  cities  old, 
And  regions  dark  with  woods,  will  turn  away 
To  mark  the  path  of  some  penurious  rill 
Which  murmureth  at  his  feet  ?  Where  does  the  soul 
Consent  her  soaring  fancy  to  restrain, 
Which  bears  her  up,  a§  on  an  eagle's  wings,        240 
Destin'd  for  highest  heaven ;  or  which  of  fate's 
Tremendous  barriers  shall  confine  her  flight 
To  any  humbler  quarry  ?     The  rich  earth 
Cannot  detain  her ;  nor  the  ambient  air 
With  all  its  changes.     For  a  while  with  joy 
She  hovers  o'er  the  sun,  and  views  the  small 
Attendant  orbs,  beneath  his  sacred  beam, 
Emerging  from  the  deep,  like  cluster'd  isles 
Whose  rocky  shores  to  the  glad  sailor's  eye 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  211 

Reflect  the  gleams  of  morning :  for  a  while         250 
With  pride  she  sees  liis  firm,  paternal  sway 
Bend  the  reluctant  planets  to  move  each 
Round  its 'perpetual  year.     But  soon  she  quits 
That  prospect :  meditating  loftier  views, 
She  darts  adventurous  up  the  long  career 
Of  comets ;  through  the  constellations  holds 
Her  course,  and  now  looks  back  on  all  the  stars 
Whose  blended  flames  as  with  a  milky  stream 
Part  the  blue  region.     Empyrean  tracts,  259 

Where  happy  souls  beyond  this  concave  heaven 
Abide,  she  then  explores,  whence  purer  light 
For  countless  ages  travels  through  the  abyss, 
Nor  hath  in  sight  of  mortals  yet  arriv'd. 
Upon  the  wide  creation's  utmost  shore 
At  length  she  stands,  and  the  dread  space  beyond 
Contemplates,  half-recoiling :  nathless  down 
The  gloomy  void,  astonish'd,  yet  unquell'd, 
She  plungeth ;  down  the  unfathomable  gulf, 
Where  God  alone  hath  being.     There  her  hopes 
Rest  at  the  fated  goal.     For,  from  the  birth        270 
Of  human  kind,  the  Sovereign  Maker  said 
That  not  in  humble,  nor  in  brief  delight, 
Not  in  the  fleeting  echoes  of  renown, 
Power's  purple  robes,  nor  Pleasure's  flowery  lap, 
The  soul  should  find  contentment ;  but,  from  these 
Turning  disdainful  to  an  equal  good, 
Through  Nature's  opening  walks  enlarge  her  aim, 
Till  every  bound  at  length  should  disappear, 
And  infinite  perfection  fill  the  scene.  279 


212  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

But  lo,  where  Beauty,  dress'd  in  gentler  pomp, 
With  comely  steps  advancing,  claims  the  verse 
Her  charms  inspire.     O  Beauty,  source  of  praise, 
Of  honour,  even  to  mute  and  lifeless  things ; 
0  thou  that  kindlest  in  each  human  heart 
Love,  and  the  wish  of  poets,  when  their  tongue 
Would  teach  to  other  bosoms  what  so  charms 
Their  own ;  O  child  of  Nature  and  the  soul, 
In  happiest  hour  brought  forth ;  the  doubtful  garb 
Of  words,  of  earthly  language,  all  too  mean, 
Too  lowly  I  account,  in  which  to  clothe  290 

Thy  form  divine : -for  thee  the  mind  alone 
Beholds ;  nor  half  thy  brightness  can  reveal 
Through  those  dim  organs,  whose  corporeal  touch 
O'ershadoweth  thy  pure  essence.     Yet,  my  Muse. 
If  Fortune  call  thee  to  the  task,  wait  thou 
Thy  favourable  seasons :  then,  while  fear 
And  doubt  are  absent,  thro'  wide  nature's  bounds 
Expatiate  with  glad  step,  and  choose  at  will 
Whate'er  bright  spoils  the  florid  earth  contains, 
Whate'er  the  waters,  or  the  liquid  air,  soo 

To  manifest  unblemish'd  Beauty's  praise, 
And  o'er  the  breasts  of  mortals  to  extend 
Her  gracious  empire.     Wilt  thou  to  the  isles 
Atlantic,  to  the  rich  Hesperian  clime, 
Fly  in  the  train  of  Autumn ;  and  look  on, 
And  learn  from  him ;  while,  as  he  roves  around, 
Where'er  his  fingers  touch  the  fruitful  grove, 
The  branches  bloom  with  gold ;  where'er  his  foot 
Imprints  the  soil,  the  ripening  clusters  swell, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  213 

Turning  aside  their  foliage,  and  come  forth          sio 
In  purple  lights,  till  every  hillock  glows 
As  with  the  blushes  of  an  evening  sky  ? 
Or  wilt  thou  that  Thessalian  landscape  trace, 
Where  slow  Peneus  his  clear  glassy  tide 
Draws  smooth  along,  between  the  winding  cliffs 
Of  Ossa  and  the  pathless  woods  unshorn 
That  wave  o'er  huge  Olympus  1    Down  the  stream, 
Look  how  the  mountains  with  their  double  range 
Embrace  the  vale  of  Tempe  :  from  each  side 
Ascending  steep  to  heaven,  a  rocky  mound          320 
Cover'd  with  ivy  and  the  laurel -boughs 
That  crown'd  young  Phoebus  for  the  Python  slain. 
Fair  Tempe !  on  whose  primrose  banks  the  morn 
Awoke  most  fragrant,  and  the  noon  repos'd 
In  pomp  of  lights  and  shadows  most  sublime ; 
"Whose  lawns,  whose  glades,  ere  human  footsteps  yet 
Had  trac'd  an  entrance,  were  the  hallow'd  haunt 
Of  silvan  powers  immortal ;  where  they  sate 
Oft  in  the  golden  age,  the  Nymphs  and  Fauns, 
Beneath  some  arbour  branching  o'er  the  flood,    sso 
And  leaning  round  hung  on  the  instructive  lips 
Of  hoary  Pan,  or  o'er  some  open  dale 
Danc'd  in  light  measures  to  his  sevenfold  pipe, 
While  Zephyr's  wanton  hand  along  their  path 
Flung  showers  of  painted  blossoms,  fertile  dews, 
And  one  perpetual  spring.     But  if  our  task 
More  lofty  rites  demand,  with  all  good  vows 
Then  let  us  hasten  to  the  rural  haunt 
Where  young  Melissa  dwells.     Nor  thou  refuse 


214  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

The  voice  which  calls  thee  from  thy  lov'd  retreat, 
Bui  hither,  gentle  maid,  thy  footsteps  turn :          341 
Here,  to  thy  own  unquestionable  theme, 
O  fair,  0  graceful,  bend  thy  polish'd  brow, 
Assenting ;  and  the  gladness  of  thy  eyes 
Impart  to  me,  like  morning's  wished  light 
Seen  through  the  vernal  air.     By  yonder  stream, 
Where  beech  and  elm  along  the  bordering  mead 
Send  forth  wild  melody  from  every  bough, 
Together  let  us  wander ;  where  the  hills 
Cover'd  with  fleeces  to  the  lowing  vale  sso 

Reply ;  where  tidings  of  content  and  peace 
Each  echo  brings.     Lo,  how  the  western  sun 
O'er  fields  and  floods,  o'er  every  living  soul, 
Diffuseth  glad  repose !     There  while  I  speak 
Of  Beauty's  honours,  thou,  Melissa,  thou 
Shalt  hearken,  not  unconscious,  while  I  tell 
How  first  from  Heaven  she  came  ;  how  after  all 
The  works  of  life,  the  elemental  scenes, 
The  hours,  the  seasons,  she  had  oft  explor'd, 
At  length  her  favourite  mansion  and  her  throne 
She  fix'd  in  woman's  form  ;  what  pleasing  ties    SSL 
To  virtue  bind  her ;  what  effectual  aid 
They  lend  each  other's  power ;  and  how  divine 
Their  union,  should  some  unambitious  maid, 
To  all  the  enchantment  of  the  Idalian  queen, 
Add  sanctity  and  wisdom :  while  my  tongue 
Prolongs  the  tale,  Melissa,  thou  mayst  feign 
To  wonder  whence  my  rapture  is  inspir'd ; 
But  soon  the  smile  which  dawns  upon  thy  lip 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    I.  215 

Shall  tell  it,  and  the  tenderer  bloom  o'er  all         »o 

That  soft  cheek  springing  to  the  marble  neck, 

Which  bends  aside  in  vain,  revealing  more 

What  it  would  thus  keep  silent,  and  in  vain 

The  sense  of  praise  dissembling.     Then  my  song 

Great  Nature's  winning  arts,  which  thus  inform 

With  joy  and  love  the  rugged  breast  of  man, 

Should  sound  in  numbers  worthy  such  a  theme 

While  all  whose  souls  have  ever  felt  the  force 

Of  those  enchanting  passions,  to  my  lyre 

Should  throng  attentive,  and  receive  once  more 

Their  influence,  unobscur'd  by  any  cloud  ssi 

Of  vulgar  care,  and  purer  than  the  hand 

Of  Fortune  can  bestow :  nor,  to  confirm 

Their  sway,  should  awful  Contemplation  scorn 

To  join  his  dictates  to  the  genuine  strain 

Of  Pleasure's  tongue ;  nor  yet  should  Pleasure's  ear 

Be  much  averse.     Ye  chiefly,  gentle  band 

Of  youths  and  virgins,  who  through  many  a  wish 

And  many  a  fond  pursuit,  as  in  some  scene 

Of  magic  bright  and  fleeting,  are  allur'd  890 

By  various  Beauty ;  if  the  pleasing  toil 

Can  yield  a  moment's  respite,  hither  turn 

Your  favourable  ear,  and  trust  my  words. 

I  do  not  mean,  on  bless'd  Religion's  seat 

Presenting  Superstition's  gloomy  form, 

To  dash  your  soothing  hopes :  I  do  not  mean 

To  bid  the  jealous  thunderer  fire  the  heavens, 

Or  shapes  infernal  rend  the  groaning  earth, 

And  scare  you  from  your  joys.     My  cheerful  song 


216  THE   PLEASURES    OF   THE 

With  happier  omens  calls  you  to  the  field,  <oo 

Pleas'd  with  your  generous  ardour  in  the  chase, 
And  warm  like  you.     Then  tell  me  (for  ye  know) 
Doth  Beauty  ever  deign  to  dwell  where  use 
And  aptitude  are  strangers  ?  is  her  praise 
Confess'd  in  aught  whose  most  peculiar  ends 
Are  lame  and  fruitless  ?  or  did  Nature  mean 
This  pleasing  call  the  herald  of  a  lie, 
To  hide  the  shame  of  discord  and  disease, 
And  win  each  fond  admirer  into  snares, 
Foil'd,  baffled  ?     No :  with  better  providence      <io 
The  general  mother,  conscious  how  infirm 
Her  offspring  tread  the  paths  of  good  and  ill, 
Thus,  to  the  choice  of  credulous  desire, 
Doth  objects  the  completest  of  their  tribe 
Distinguish  and  commend.     Yon  flowery  bank, 
Cloth'd  in  the  soft  magnificence  of  Spring, 
Will  not  the  flocks  approve  it  ?  will  they  ask 
The  reedy  fen  for  pasture  ?     That  clear  rill 
Which  trickleth  murmuring  from  the  mossy  rock, 
Yields  it  less  wholesome  beverage  to  the  worn    420 
And  thirsty  traveller,  than  the  standing  pool 
With  muddy  weeds  o'ergrown  ?     Yon  ragged  vine, 
Whose  lean  and  sullen  clusters  mourn  the  rage 
Of  Eurus,  will  the  wine-press  or  the  bowl 
Report  of  her,  as  of  the  swelling  grape 
Which  glitters  through  the  tendrils,  like  a  gem 
When  first  it  meets  the  sun  ?     Or  what  are  all 
The  various  charms  to  life  and  sense  adjoin'd  ? 
Are  they  not  pledges  of  a  state  entire, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  217 

Where  native  order  reigns,  with  every  part         430 
In  health,  and  every  function  well  performed  ? 

Thus  then  at  first  was  Beauty  sent  from  Heaven, 
The  lovely  ministress  of  Truth  and  Good 
In  this  dark  world ;  for  Truth  and  Good  are  one ; 
And  Beauty  dwells  in  them,  and  they  in  her, 
With  like  participation.     Wherefore,  then, 
0  sons  of  earth,  would  ye  dissolve  the  tie  ? 
0 !  wherefore  with  a  rash  and  greedy  aim 
Seek  ye  to  rove  through  every  flattering  scene 
Which  Beauty  seems  to  deck,  nor  once  inquire 
Where  is  the  suffrage  of  eternal  Truth,  441 

Or  where  the  seal  of  undeceitful  good, 
To  save  your  search  from  folly  ?     Wanting  these, 
Lo,  Beauty  withers  in  your  void  embrace ; 
And  with  the  glittering  of  an  idiot's  toy 
Did  fancy  mock  your  vows.     Nor  yet  let  hope, 
That  kindliest  inmate  of  the  youthful  breast, 
Be  hence  appall'd ;  be  turn'd  to  coward  sloth, 
Sitting  in  silence,  with  dejected  eyes 
Incurious,  and  with  folded  hands :  far  less  *» 

Let  scorn  of  wild,  fantastic  folly's  dreams, 
Or  hatred  of  the  bigot's  savage  pride, 
Persuade  you  e'er  that  Beauty,  or  the  love 
Which  waits  on  Beauty,  may  not  brook  to  hear 
The  sacred  lore  of  undeceitful  good 
And  Truth  eternal.     From  the  vulgar  crowd, 
Though  Superstition,  tyranness  abhorr'd, . 
The  reverence  due  to  this  majestic  pair 
With  threats  and  execration  still  demands ; 
p 


218  THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Though  the  tame  wretch,  who  asks  of  her  the  way 
To  their  celestial  dwelling,  she  constrains  «i 

To  quench  or  set  at  nought  the  lamp  of  God 
Within  his  frame ;  through  many  a  cheerless  wild 
Though  forth  she  leads  him  credulous  and  dark, 
And  aw'd  with  dubious  notion ;  though  at  length 
Haply  she  plunge  him  into  cloister'd  cells 
And  mansions  unrelenting  as  the  grave, 
But  void  of  quiet,  there  to  watch  the  hours 
Of  midnight ;  there,  amid  the  screaming  owl's 
Dire  song,  with  spectres  or  with  guilty  shades    tfo 
To  talk  of  pangs  and  everlasting  woe ; 
Yet  be  not  ye  dismay'd.     A  gentler  star 
Presides  o'er  your  adventure.     From  the  bower 
Where  Wisdom  sat  with  her  Athenian  sons, 
Could  but  my  happy  hand  entwine  a  wreath 
Of  Plato's  olive  with  the  Mantuan  bay, 
Then,  (for  what  need  of  cruel  fear  to  you, 
To  you  whom  godlike  love  can  well  command  ?) 
Then  should  my  powerful  voice  at  once  dispel 
Those  monkish  horrors ;  should,  in  words  divine, 
Relate  how  favour'd  minds  like  you  inspir'd,        <ffl 
And  taught  their  inspiration  to  conduct 
By  ruling  Heaven's  decree,  through  various  walks 
And  prospects  various,  but  delightful  all, 
Move  onward ;  while  now  myrtle  groves  appear, 
Now  arms  and  radiant  trophies,  now  the  rods 
Of  empire  with  the  curule  throne,  or  now 
The  domes  of  contemplation  and  the  Muse. 
Led  by  that  hope  sublime,  whose  cloudless  eye 


IMAGINATION.       BOOK   I.  219 

Through  the  fair  toils  and  ornaments  of  earth    490 

Discerns  the  nobler  life  reserv'd  for  heaven, 

Favour'd  alike  they  worship  round  the  shrine 

Where  Truth  conspicuous  with  her  sister-twins, 

The  undivided  partners  of  her  sway, 

With  Good  and  Beauty  reigns.     O !  let  not  us, 

By  Pleasure's  lying  blandishments  detained, 

Or  crouching  to  the  frowns  of  bigot  rage, 

0 !  let  not  us  one  moment  pause  to  join 

That  chosen  band.     And  if  the  gracious  Power 

Who  first  awaken'd  my  untutor'd  song  ooo 

Will  to  my  invocation  grant  anew 

The  tuneful  spirit,  then  through  all  our  paths 

Ne'er  shall  the  sound  of  this  devoted  lyre 

Be  wanting ;  whether  on  the  rosy  mead 

When  Summer  smiles,  to  warn  the  melting  heart 

Of  Luxury's  allurement ;  whether  firm 

Against  the  torrent  and  the  stubborn  hill 

To  urge  free  Virtue's  steps,  and  to  her  side 

Summon  that  strong  divinity  of  soul 

Which  conquers  Chance  and  Fate ;  or  on  the  height, 

The  goal  assign'd  her,  haply  to  proclaim  «ii 

Her  triumph  ;  on  her  brow  to  place  the  crown 

Of  uncorrupted  praise  ;  through  future  worlds 

To  follow  her  interminated  way, 

And  bless  Heaven's  image  in  the  heart  of  man. 

Such  is  the  worth  of  Beauty ;  such  her  power, 
So  blameless,  so  rever'd.     It  now  remains, 
In  just  gradation  through  the  various  ranks 
Of  being,  to  contemplate  how  her  gifts 


220  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

Rise  in  due  measure,  watchful  to  attend  «o 

The  steps  of  rising  Nature.     Last  and  least, 
In  colours  mingling  with  a  random  blaze, 
Doth  Beauty  dwell.     Then  higher  in  the  forms 
Of  simplest,  easiest  measure ;  in  the  bounds 
Of  circle,  cube,  or  sphere.     The  third  ascent 
To  symmetry  adds  colour :  thus  the  pearl 
Shines  in  the  concave  of  its  purple  bed, 
And  painted  shells  along  some  winding  shore 
Catch  with  indented  folds  the  glancing  sun.          529 
Next,  as  we  rise,  appear  the  blooming  tribes    [her 
Which  clothe  the  fragrant  earth ;  which  draw  from 
Their  own  nutrition ;  which  are  born  and  die ; 
Yet,  in  their  seed,  immortal :  such  the  flowers 
With  which  young  Maia  pays  the  village-maids 
That  hail  her  natal  morn ;  and  such  the  groves 
Which  blithe  Pomona  rears  on  Vaga's  bank, 
To  feed  the  bowl  of  Ariconian  swains 
Who  quaff  beneath  her  branches.     Nobler  still 
Is  Beauty's  name,  where,  to  the  full  consent 
Of  members  and  of  features,  to  the  pride 
Of  colour,  and  the  vital  change  of  growth, 
Life's  holy  flame  with  piercing  sense  is  given, 
While  active  motion  speaks  the  temper'd  soul : 
So  moves  the  bird  of  Juno ;  so  the  steed 
With  rival  swiftness  beats  the  dusty  plain, 
And  faithful  dogs  with  eager  airs  of  joy 
Salute  their  fellows.     What  sublimer  pomp 
Adorns  the  seat  where  Virtue  dwells  on  earth, 
And  Truth's  eternal  daylight  shines  around; 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  221 

What  palm  belongs  to  man's  imperial  front,         wo 

And  woman  powerful  with  becoming  smiles, 

Chief  of  terrestrial  natures,  —  need  we  now 

Strive  to  inculcate  ?     Thus  hath  Beauty  there 

Her  most  conspicuous  praise  to  matter  lent, 

Where  most  conspicuous  through  that  shadowy  veil 

Breaks  forth  the  bright  expression  of  a  mind ; 

By  steps  directing  our  enraptur'd  search 

To  Him,  the  first  of  minds,  the  chief,  the  sole ; 

From  whom,  through  this  wide,  complicated  world, 

Did  all  her  various  lineaments  begin ;  #>o 

To  whom  alone,  consenting  and  entire, 

At  once  their  mutual  influence  all  display. 

He,God  most  high  (bear  witness,Earth  and  Heaven) 

The  living  fountains  in  himself  contains 

Of  beauteous  and  sublime :  with  him  enthron'd, 

Ere  days  or  years  trod  their  ethereal  way, 

In  his  supreme  intelligence  enthron'd, 

The  queen  of  love  holds  her  unclouded  state, 

Urania.     Thee,  O  Father  !  this  extent 

Of  matter ;  thee  the  sluggish  earth  and  tract      570 

Of  seas,  the  heavens  and  heavenly  splendours  feel 

Pervading,  quickening,  moving.     From  the  depth 

Of  thy  great  essence,  forth  didst  thou  conduct 

Eternal  Form ;  and  there,  where  Chaos  reign'd, 

Gav'st  her  dominion  to  erect  her  seat, 

And  sanctify  the  mansion.     All  her  works 

Well-pleas'd  thou  didst  behold :  the  gloomy  fires 

Of  storm  or  earthquake,  and  the  purest  light 

Of  summer ;  soft  Campania's  new-born  rose,      579 


222  THE   PLEASURES    OF    THE 

And  the  slow  weed  which  pines  on  Russian  hills, 

Comely  alike  to  thy  full  vision  stand : 

To  thy  surrounding  vision,  which  unites 

All  essences  and  powers  of  the  great  world 

In  one  sole  order,  fair  alike  they  stand, 

As  features  well  consenting,  and  alike 

Requir'd  by  Nature  ere  she  could  attain 

Her  just  resemblance  to  the  perfect  shape 

Of  universal  Beauty,  which  with  thee 

Dwelt  from  the  first.     Thou  also,  ancient  Mind, 

Whom  love  and  free  beneficence  await  590 

In  all  thy  doings ;  to  inferior  minds, 

Thy  offspring,  and  to  man,  thy  youngest  son, 

Refusing  no  convenient  gift  nor  good ; 

Their  eyes  didst  open,  in  this  earth,  yon  heaven, 

Those  starry  worlds,  the  countenance  divine 

Of  Beauty  to  behold.     But  not  to  them 

Didst  thou  her  awful  magnitude  reveal, 

Such  as  before  thine  own  unbounded  sight 

She  stands  (for  never  shall  created  soul 

Conceive  that  object),  nor,  to  all  their  kinds,       eoo 

The  same  in  shape  or  features  didst  thou  frame 

Her  image.   Measuring  well  their  different  spheres 

Of  sense  and  action,  thy  paternal  hand 

Hath  for  each  race  prepar'd  a  different  test 

Of  Beauty,  own'd  and  reverenc'd  as  their  guide 

Most  apt,  most  faithful.  Thence  inform'd,  they  scan 

The  objects  that  surround  them ;  and  select, 

Since  the  great  whole  disclaims  their  scanty 

Each  for  himself  selects  peculiar  parts 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  223 

Of  Nature ;  what  the  standard  fix'd  by  Heaven 
Within  his  breast  approves  :  acquiring  thus 
A  partial  Beauty,  which  becomes  his  lot ; 
A  Beauty  which  his  eye  may  comprehend, 
His  hand  may  copy :  leaving,  O  Supreme, 
O  thou  whom  none  hath  utter'd,  leaving  all 
To  thee  that  infinite,  consummate  form, 
Which  the  great  powders,  the  gods  around  thy  throne 
And  nearest  to  thy  counsels,  know  with  thee 
For  ever  to  have  been ;  but  who  she  is,  eis 

Or  what  her  likeness,  know  not.     Man  surveys 
A  narrower  scene,  where,  by  the  mix'd  effect 
Of  things  corporeal  on  his  passive  mind, 
He  judgeth  what  is  fair.     Corporeal  things 
The  mind  of  man  impel  with  various  powers, 
And  various  features  to  his  eye  disclose. 
The  powers  which  move  his  sense  with  instant  joy, 
The  features  which  attract  his  heart  to  love, 
He  marks,  combines,  reposits.     Other  powers 
And  features  of  the  self-same  thing  (unless 
The  beauteous  form,  the  creature  of  his  mind,    eao 
'Request  their  close  alliance)  he  o'erlooks 
Forgotten ;  or  with  self-beguiling  zeal, 
Whene'er  his  passions  mingle  in  the  work, 
Half  alters,  half  disowns.     The  tribes  of  men 
Thus  from  their  different  functions  and  the  shapes 
Familiar  to  their  eye,  with  art  obtain, 
Unconscious  of  their  purpose,  yet  with  art 
Obtain  the  Beauty  fitting  man  to  love ; 
Whose  proud  desires  from  Nature's  homely  toil 


224  THE   PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Oft  turn  away,  fastidious :  asking  still  «o 

His  mind's  high  aid,  to  purify  the  form 
From  matter's  gross  communion  ;  to  secure 
For  ever,  from  the  meddling  hand  of  Change 
Or  rude  Decay,  her  features ;  and  to  add 
"Whatever  ornaments  may  suit  her  mien, 
Where'er  he  finds  them  scatter'd  thro  the  paths 
Of  Nature  or  of  Fortune.     Then  he  seats 
The  accomplish'd  image  deep  within  his  breast, 
Reviews  it,  and  accounts  it  good  and  fair. 

Thus  the  one  Beauty  of  the  world  entire,        eso 
The  universal  Venus,  far  beyond 
The  keenest  effort  of  created  eyes, 
And  their  most  wide  horizon,  dwells  enthron'd 
In  ancient  silence.     At  her  footstool  stands 
An  altar  burning  with  eternal  fire 
Unsullied,  unconsum'd.     Here  every  hour, 
Here  every  moment,  in  their  turns  arrive 
Her  offspring ;  an  innumerable  band 
Of  sisters,  comely  all !  but  differing  far 
In  age,  in  stature,  and  expressive  mien,  eeo 

More  than  bright  Helen  from  her  new-born  babe. 
To  this  maternal  shrine  in  turns  they  come, 
Each  with  her  sacred  lamp ;  that  from  the  source 
Of  living  flame,  which  here  immortal  flows, 
Their  portions  of  its  lustre  they  may  draw 
For  days,  or  months,  or  years ;  for  ages,  some  j 
As  their  great  parent's  discipline  requires. 
Then  to  their  several  mansions  they  depart, 
In  stars,  in  planets,  through  the  unknown  shores 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   I.  225 

Of  yon  ethereal  ocean.     Who  can  tell,  ^70 

Even  on  the  surface  of  this  rolling  earth, 
How  many  make  abode  ?     The  fields,  the  groves, 
The  winding  rivers  and  the  azure  main, 
Are  render'd  solemn  by  their  frequent  feet, 
Their  rites  sublime.    There  each  her  destin'd  home 
Informs  with  that  pure  radiance  from  the  skies 
Brought  down,  and  shines  throughout  her  little 

sphere, 

Exulting.     Straight,  as  travellers  by  night 
Turn  toward  a  distant  flame,  so  some  fit  eye, 
Among  the  various  tenants  of  the  scene,  eso 

Discerns  the  heaven-born  phantom  seated  there, 
And  owns  her  charms.     Hence  the  wide  universe, 
Through  all  the  seasons  of  revolving  worlds, 
Bears  witness  with  its  people,  gods  and  men, 
To  Beauty's  blissful  power,  and  with  the  voice 
Of  grateful  admiration  still  resounds ; 
That  voice,  to  which  is  Beauty's  frame  divine 
As  is  the  cunning  of  the  master's  hand 
To  the  sweet  accent  of  the  well-tun'd  lyre. 

Genius  of  ancient  Greece,  whose  faithful  steps 
Have  led  us  to  these  awful  solitudes  e&i 

Of  Nature  and  of  Science  ;  nurse  rever'd 
Of  generous  counsels  and  heroic  deeds ; 
0 !  let  some  portion  of  thy  matchless  praise 
Dwell  in  my  breast,  and  teach  me  to  adorn 
This  unattempted  theme.     Nor  be  my  thoughts 
Presumptuous  counted,  if  amid  the  calm 
Which  Hesper  sheds  along  the  vernal  heaven, 


226  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

If  I,  from  vulgar  Superstition's  walk, 

Impatient  steal,  and  from  the  unseemly  rites       m 

Of  splendid  Adulation,  to  attend 

With  hymns  thy  presence  in  the  sylvan  shade, 

By  their  malignant  footsteps  unprofan'd. 

Come,  O  renowned  power ;  thy  glowing  mien 

Such,  and  so.  elevated  all  thy  form, 

As  when  the  great  barbaric  lord,  again 

And  yet  again  diminish'd,  hid  his  face 

Among  the  herd  of  satraps  and  of  kings ; 

And,  at  the  lightning  of  thy  lifted  spear,  rw 

Crouch'd  like  a  slave.     Bring  all  thy  martial  spoils, 

Thy  palms,  thy  laurels,  thy  triumphal  songs, 

Thy  smiling  band  of  Arts,  thy  godlike  sires 

Of  civil  wisdom,  thy  unconquer'd  youth  . 

After  some  glorious  day  rejoicing  round 

Their  new-erected  trophy.     Guide  my  feet 

Through  fair  Lyceum's  walk,  the  olive  shades 

Of  Academus,  and  the  sacred  vale 

Haunted  by  steps  divine,  where  once  beneath 

That  ever-living  platane's  ample  boughs 

Ilissus,  by  Socratic  sounds  detain'd, 

On  his  neglected  urn  attentive  lay ; 

"While  Boreas,  lingering  on  the  neighbouring  s 

With  beauteous  Orithyia,  his  love-tale 

In  silent  awe  suspended.     There  let  me 

With  blameless  hand,  from  thy  unenvious  fields, 

Transplant  some  living  blossoms,  to  adorn 

My  native  clime  ;  while,  far  beyond  the  meed 

Of  Fancy's  toil  aspiring,  I  unlock 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  227 

The  springs  of  ancient  wisdom ;  while  I  add       729 
(What  cannot  be  disjoin'd  from  Beauty's  praise) 
Thy  name  and  native  dress,  thy  works  belov'd 
And  honour'd ;  while  to  my  compatriot  youth 
I  point  the  great  example  of  thy  sons, 
And  tune  to  Attic  themes  the  British  lyre. 


BOOK    II.      1765. 


ARGUMENT. 

INTRODUCTION  to  this  more  difficult  part  of  the  subject.  Of  Truth  and 
its  three  classes,  matter  of  fact,  experimental  or  scientifica]  truth 
(contradistinguished  from  opinion),  and  universal  truth;  which  last 
is  either  metaphysical  or  geometrical,  either  purely  intellectual  or 
perfectly  abstracted.  On  the  power  of  discerning  truth  depends 
that  of  acting  with  the  view  of  an  end;  a  circumstance  essential  to 
virtue.  Of  Virtue,  considered  in  the  divine  Mind  as  a  perpetual 
and  universal  beneficence.  Of  human  virtue,  considered  as  a  sys 
tem  of  particular  sentiments  and  actions,  suitable  to  the  design  of 
Providence  and  the  condition  of  man,  to  whom  it  constitutes  the 
chief  good  and  the  first  beauty.  Of  Vice  and  its  origin.  Of  Ridi 
cule  ;  its  general  nature  and  final  cause.  Of  the  Passions ;  parti 
cularly  of  those  which  relate  to  evil  natural  or  moral,  and  which 
are  generally  accounted  painful,  though  not  always  unattended 
•with  pleasure. 

THUS  far  of  Beauty,  and  the  pleasing  forms 
Which  man's  untutor'd  fancy,  from  the  scenes 
Imperfect  of  this  ever-changing  world, 
Creates ;  and  views,  enamour'd.     Now  my  song 
Severer  themes  demand :  mysterious  Truth ; 


228  THE   PLEASURES    OF    THE 

And  Virtue,  sovereign  good ;  the  spells,  the  trains, 
The  progeny  of  Error ;  the  dread  sway 
Of  Passion  ;  and  whatever  hidden  stores 
From  her  own  lofty  deeds  and  from  herself 
The  mind  acquires.     Severer  argument ;  10 

Not  less  attractive,  nor  deserving  less 
A  constant  ear.     For  what  are  all  the  forms 
Educ'd  by  fancy  from  corporeal  things, 
Greatness,  or  pomp,  or  symmetry  of  parts  ? 
Not  tending  to  the  heart,  soon  feeble  grows, 
As  the  blunt  arrow  'gainst  the  knotty  trunk, 
Their  impulse  on  the  sense :  while  the  pall'd  eye 
Expects  in  vain  its  tribute ;  asks  in  vain, 
Where  are  the  ornaments  it  once  admir'd  ? 
Not  so  the  moral  species,  nor  the  powers  » 

Of  Passion  and  of  Thought.     The  ambitious  mind, 
With  objects  boundless  as  her  own  desires, 
Can  there  converse ;  by  these  unfading  forms 
Touch'd  and  awaken'd  still,  with  eager  act 
She  bends  each  nerve,  and  meditates  well  pleas'd 
Her  gifts,  her  godlike  fortune.     Such  the  scenes 
Now  opening  round  us.     May  the  destin'd  verse 
Maintain  its  equal  tenor,  though  in  tracts 
Obscure  and  arduous !     May  the  Source  of  light 
All-present,  all-sufficient,  guide  our  steps  so 

Through  every  maze !  and  whom  in  childish  years 
From  the  loud  throng,  the  beaten  paths  of  wealth 
And  power,  thou  didst  apart  send  forth  to  speak 
In  tuneful  words  concerning  highest  things, 
Him  still  do  thou,  O  Father,  at  those  hours 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  229 

Of  pensive  freedom,  when  the  human  soul 
Shuts  out  the  rumour  of  the  world,  him  still 
Touch  thou  with  secret  lessons :  call  thou  back 
Each  erring  thought ;  and  let  the  yielding  strains 
From  his  full  bosom,  like  a  welcome  rill  « 

Spontaneous  from  its  healthy  fountain,  flow  ! 

But  from  what  name,  what  favourable  sign, 
What  heavenly  auspice,  rather  shall  I  date 
My  perilous  excursion,  than  from  Truth, 
That  nearest  inmate  of  the  human  soul ; 
Estrang'd  from  whom,  the  countenance  divine 
Of  man,  disfigur'd  and  dishonoured,  sinks 
Among  inferior  things  ?     For  to  the  brutes 
Perception  and  the  transient  boons  of  sense 
Hath  Fate  imparted :  but  to  man  alone  so 

Of  sublunary  beings  was  it  given 
Each  fleeting  impulse  on  the  sensual  powers 
At  leisure  to  review  ;  with  equal  eye 
To  scan  the  passion  of  the  stricken  nerve, 
Or  the  vague  object  striking ;  to  conduct 
From  sense,  the  portal  turbulent  and  loud, 
Into  the  mind's  wide  palace,  one  by  one, 
The  frequent,  pressing,  fluctuating  forms, 
And  question  and  compare  them.    Thus  he  learns 
Their  birth  and  fortunes ;  how  allied  they  haunt 
The  avenues  of  sense ;  what  laws  direct  ei 

Their  union ;  and  what  various  discords  rise, 
Or  fixed  or  casual :  which  when  his  clear  thought 
Retains,  and  when  his  faithful  words  express, 
That  living  image  of  the  external  scene, 


230  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

As  in  a  polish'd  mirror  held  to  view, 
Is  Truth :  where'er  it  varies  from  the  shape 
And  hue  of  its  exemplar,  in  that  part 
Dim  Error  lurks.     Moreover,  from  without, 
When  oft  the  same  society  of  forms  i 

In  the  same  order  have  approach'd  his  mind, 
He  deigns  no  more  their  steps  with  curious  heed 
To  trace ;  no  more  their  features  or  their  garb 
He  now  examines ;  but  of  them  and  their 
Condition,  as  with  some  diviner's  tongue, 
Affirms  what  Heaven  in  every  distant  place, 
Through  every  future  season,  will  decree. 
This,  too,  is  Truth  :  where'er  his  prudent  lips 
Wait  till  experience  diligent  and  slow 
Has  authorized  their  sentence,  this  is  Truth ;        a 
A  second,  higher  kind :  the  parent  this 
Of  Science ;  or  the  lofty  power  herself, 
Science  herself,  on  whom  the  wants  and  cares 
Of  social  life  depend ;  the  substitute 
Of  God's  own  wisdom  in  this  toilsome  world ; 
The  providence  of  man.     Yet  oft  in  vain, 
To  earn  her  aid,  with  fix'd  and  anxious  eye 
He  looks  on  Nature's  and  on  Fortune's  course : 
Too  much  in  vain.     His  duller  visual  ray 
The  stillness  and  the  persevering  acts  « 

Of  Nature  oft  elude ;  and  Fortune  oft 
With  step  fantastic  from  her  wonted  walk 
Turns  into  mazes  dim :  his  sight  is  foil'd ; 
And  the  crude  sentence  of  his  faltering  tongue 
Is  but  opinion's  verdict,  half  believ'd 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    II.  231 

And  prone  to  change.     Here  thou,  who  feel'st  thine 

Congenial  to  my  lyre's  profounder  tone,  [ear 

Pause,  and  be  watchful.     Hitherto  the  stores, 

Which  feed  thy  mind  and  exercise  her  powers, 

Partake  the  relish  of  their  native  soil,  100 

Their  parent  earth.     But  know>  a  nobler  dower 

Her  Sire  at  birth  decreed  her ;  purer  gifts 

From  his  own  treasure ;  forms  which  never  deign'd 

In  eyes  or  ears  to  dwell,  within  the  sense 

Of  earthly  organs ;  but  sublime  were  plac'd 

In  his  essential  reason,  leading  there 

That  vast  ideal  host  which  all  his  works 

Through  endless  ages  never  will  reveal. 

Thus  then  endow'd,  the  feeble  creature  man, 

The  slave  of  hunger  and  the  prey  of  death,        no 

Even  now,  even  here,  in  earth's  dim  prison  bound, 

The  language  of  intelligence  divine 

Attains  ;  repeating  oft  concerning  one 

And  many,  past  and  present,  parts  and  whole, 

Those  sovereign  dictates  which  in  farthest  heaven, 

Where  no  orb  rolls,  Eternity's  fix'd  ear 

Hears  from  coeval  Truth,when  Chance  nor  Change, 

Nature's  loud  progeny,  nor  Nature's  self, 

Dares  intermeddle  or  approach  her  throne. 

Ere  long,  o'er  this  corporeal  world  he  learns       120 

To  extend  her  sway ;  while  calling  from  the  deep, 

From  earth  and  air,  their  multitudes  untold 

Of  figures  and  of  motions  round  his  walk, 

For  each  wide  family  some  single  birth 

He  sets  in  view,  the  impartial  type  of  all 


232  THE   PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Its  brethren ;  suffering  it  to  claim,  beyond 
Their  common  heritage,  no  private  gift, 
No  proper  fortune.     Then  whate'er  his  eye 
In  this  discerns,  his  bold  unerring  tongue 
Pronounceth  of  the  kindred,  without  bound,        wo 
Without  condition.     Such  the  rise  of  forms 
Sequester'd  far  from  sense  and  every  spot 
Peculiar  in  the  realms  of  space  or  time : 
Such  is  the  throne  which  man  for  Truth,  amid 
The  paths  of  mutability,  hath  built 
Secure,  unshaken,  still ;  and  whence  he  views, 
In  matter's  mouldering  structures,  the  pure  forms 
Of  triangle  or  circle,  cube  or  cone, 
Impassive  all ;  whose  attributes  nor  force 
Nor  fate  can  alter.     There  he  first  conceives       HO 
True  being,  and  an  intellectual  world 
The  same  this  hour  and  ever.     Thence  he  deems 
Of  his  own  lot ;  above  the  painted  shapes 
That  fleeting  move  o'er  this  terrestrial  scene 
Looks  up ;  beyond  the  adamantine  gates 
Of  death  expatiates ;  as  his  birthright  claims 
Inheritance  in  all  the  works  of  God  ; 
Prepares  for  endless  time  his  plan  of  life, 
And  counts  the  universe  itself  his  home.  H9 

Whence  also  but  from  Truth,  the  light  of  minds, 
Is  human  fortune  gladden'd  with  the  rays 
Of  Virtue  ?  with  the  moral  colours  thrown 
On  every  walk  of  this  our  social  scene, 
Adorning  for  the  eye  of  gods  and  men 
The  passions,  actions,  habitudes  of  life, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  233 

And  rendering  earth  like  heaven,  a  sacred  place 
Where  Love  and  Praise  may  take  delight  to  dwell  ? 
Let  none  with  heedless  tongue  from  Truth  disjoin 
The  reign  of  Virtue.     Ere  the  dayspring  flow'd, 
Like  sisters  link'd  in  Concord's  golden  chain,       ieo 
They  stood  before  the  great  Eternal  Mind, 
Their  common  parent*;  and  by  him  were  both 
Sent  forth  among  his  creatures,  hand  in  hand, 
Inseparably  join'd :  nor  e'er  did  Truth 
Find  an  apt  ear  to  listen  to  her  lore,          [Truth's 
Which  knew  not  Virtue's  voice ;  nor,  save  where 
Majestic  words  are  heard  and  understood, 
Doth  Virtue  deign  to  inhabit.     Go,  inquire 
Of  Nature :  not  among  Tartarian  rocks, 
Whither  the  hungry  vulture  with  its  prey  in 

Returns ;  not  where  the  lion's  sullen  roar 
At  noon  resounds  along  the  lonely  banks 
Of  ancient  Tigris  :  but  her  gentler  scenes, 
The  dovecote  and  the  shepherd's  fold  at  morn, 
Consult ;  or  by  the  meadow's  fragrant  hedge, 
In  spring-time  when  the  woodlands  first  are  green, 
Attend  the  linnet  singing  to  his  mate 
Couch'd  o'er  their  tender  young.     To  this  fond  care 
Thou  dost  not  Virtue's  honourable  name 
Attribute ;  wherefore,  save  that  not  one  gleam 
Of  Truth  did  e'er  discover  to  themselves  isi 

Their  little  hearts,  or  teach  them,  by  the  effects 
Of  that  parental  love,  the  love  itself 
To  judge,  and  measure  its  officious  deeds? 
But  man,  whose  eyelids  Truth  has  fill'd  with  day, 
Q 


234  THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Discerns  how  skilfully  to  bounteous  ends 
His  wise  affections  move ;  with  free  accord 
Adopts  their  guidance ;  yields  himself  secure 
To  Nature's  prudent  impulse ;  and  converts 
Instinct  to  duty  and  to  sacred  law.  i» 

Hence  Right  and  Fit  on  earth :  while  thus  to  man 
The  Almighty  Legislator  hath  explain'd 
The  springs  of  action  fix'd  within  his  breast  ; 
Hath  given  him  power  to  slacken  or  restrain 
Their  effort ;  and  hath  shown  him  how  they  join 
Their  partial  movements  with  the  master-wheel 
Of  the  great  world,  and  serve  that  sacred  end 
Which  he,  the  unerring  reason,  keeps  in  view. 
For  (if  a  mortal  tongue  may  speak  of  him 
And  his  dread  ways)  even  as  his  boundless  eye, 
Connecting  every  form  and  every  change,  aa 

Beholds  the  perfect  Beauty ;  so  his  will, 
Through  every  hour  producing  good  to  all 
The  family  of  creatures,  is  itself 
The  perfect  Virtue.     Let  the  grateful  swain 
Remember  this,  as  oft  with  joy  and  praise 
He  looks  upon  the  falling  dews  which  clothe 
His  lawns  with  verdure,  and  the  tender  seed 
Nourish  within  his  furrows  :  when  between 
Dead  seas  and  burning  skies,  where  long  unmov'd 
The  bark  had  languish'd,  now  a  rustling  gale      «u 
Lifts  o'er  the  fickle  waves  her  dancing  prow, 
Let  the  glad  pilot,  bursting  out  in  thanks, 
Remember  this :  lest  blind  o'erweening  pride 
Pollute  their  offerings ;  lest  their  selfish  heart 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   H.  235 

Say  to  the  heavenly  Ruler,  "  At  our  call 

Relents  thy  power:  by  us  thy  arm  is  mov'd." 

Fools  !  who  of  God  as  of  each  other  deem ; 

Who  his  invariable  acts  deduce 

From  sudden  counsels  transient  as  their  own ; 

Nor  farther  of  his  bounty,  than  the  event  221 

Which  haply  meets  their  loud  and  eager  prayer, 

Acknowledge ;  nor,  beyond  the  drop  minute 

Which  haply  they  have  tasted,  heed  the  source 

That  flows  for  all ;  the  fountain  of  his  love 

Which,  from  the  summit  where  he  sits  enthron'd, 

Pours  health  and  joy,  unfailing  streams,  throughout 

The  spacious  region  flourishing  in  view, 

The  goodly  work  of  his  eternal  day, 

His  own  fair  universe ;  on  which  alone  aao 

His  counsels  fix,  and  whence  alone  his  will 

Assumes  her  strong  direction.     Such  is  now 

His  sovereign  purpose ;  such  it  was  before 

All  multitude  of  years.     For  his  right  arm 

Was  never  idle :  his  bestowing  love 

Knew  no  beginning ;  was  not  as  a  change 

Of  mood  that  woke  at  last  and  started  up 

After  a  deep  and  solitary  sloth 

Of  boundless  ages.     No :  he  now  is  good, 

He  ever  was.     The  feet  of  hoary  Time  240 

Through  their  eternal  course  have  travell'd  o'er 

No  speechless,  lifeless  desert ;  but  through  scenes 

Cheerful  with  bounty  still ;  among  a  pomp 

Of  worlds,  for  gladness  round  the  Maker's  throne 

Loud-shouting,  or,  in  many  dialects 


236  THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Of  hope  and  filial  trust,  imploring  thence 

The  fortunes  of  their  people :  where  so  fix'd 

Were  all  the  dates  of  being,  so  dispos'd 

To  every  living  soul  of  every  kind 

The  field  of  motion  and  the  hour  of  rest,  250 

That  each  the  general  happiness  might  serve ; 

And,  by  the  discipline  of  laws  diviue 

Convinc'd  of  folly  or  chastis'd  from  guilt, 

Each  might  at  length  be  happy.     What  remains 

Shall  be  like  what  is  past ;  but  fairer  still, 

And  still  increasing  in  the  godlike  gifts 

Of  Life  and  Truth.     The  same  paternal  hand, 

From  the  mute  shell-fish  gasping  on  the  shore, 

To  men,  to  angels,  to  celestial  minds, 

Will  ever  lead  the  generations  on  250 

Through  higher  scenes  of  being ;  while,  supplied 

From  day  to  day  by  his  enlivening  breath, 

Inferior  orders  in  succession  rise 

To  fill  the  void  below.     As  flame  ascends, 

As  vapours  to  the  earth  in  showers  return, 

As  the  pois'd  ocean  toward  the  attracting  moon 

Swells,  and  the  ever-listening  planets  charm'd 

By  the  sun's  call  their  onward  pace  incline, 

So  all  things  which  have  life  aspire  to  God, 

Exhaustless  fount  of  intellectual  day  !  270 

Centre  of  souls !     Nor  doth  the  mastering  voice 

Of  Nature  cease  within  to  prompt  aright 

Their  steps ;  nor  is  the  care  of  Heaven  withheld 

From  sending  to  the  toil  external  aid ; 

That  in  their  stations  all  may  persevere 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  237 

To  climb  the  ascent  of  being,  and  approach 
For  ever  nearer  to  the  Life  divine. 

But  this  eternal  fabric  was  not  rais'd 
For  man's  inspection.     Though  to  some  be  given 
To  catch  a  transient  visionary  glimpse  230 

Of  that  majestic  scene  which  boundless  power 
Prepares  for  perfect  goodness,  yet  in  vain 
Would  human  life  her  faculties  expand 
To  embosom  such  an  object.     Nor  could  e'er 
Virtue  or  praise  have  touch'd  the  hearts  of  men, 
Had  not  the  Sovereign  Guide,  through  every  stage 
Of  this  their  various  journey,  pointed  out 
New  hopes,  new  toils,  which  to  their  humble  sphere 
Of  sight  and  strength  might  such  importance  hold 
As  doth  the^wide  creation  to  his  own.  «s» 

Hence  all  the  little  charities  of  life, 
With  all  their  duties :  hence  that  favourite  palm 
Of  human  will,  when  duty  is  suffic'd, 
And  still  the  liberal  soul  in  ampler  deeds 
Would  manifest  herself ;  that  sacred  sign 
Of  her  rever'd  affinity  to  Him 
Whose  bounties  are  his  own ;  to  whom  none  said, 
"  Create  the  wisest,  fullest,  fairest  world, 
And  make  its  offspring  happy ; "  who,  intent 
Some  likeness  of  Himself  among  his  works         soo 
To  view,  hath  pour'd  into  the  human  breast 
A  ray  of  knowledge  and  of  love,  which  guides 
Earth's  feeble  race  to  act  their  Maker's  part, 
Self-judging,  self-oblig'd ;  while,  from  before 
That  godlike  function,  the  gigantic  power 


238  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

Necessity,  though  wont  to  curb  the  force 

Of  Chaos  and  the  savage  elements, 

Retires  abash'd,  as  from  a  scene  too  high 

For  her  brute  tyranny,  and  with  her  bears 

Her  scorned  followers,  Terror,  and  base  Awe      »o 

Who  blinds  herself,  and  that  ill-suited  pair, 

Obedience  link'd  with  Hatred.     Then  the  soul 

Arises  in  her  strength ;  and,  looking  round 

Her  busy  sphere,  whatever  work  she  views, 

Whatever  counsel  bearing  any  trace 

Of  her  Creator's  likeness,  whether  apt 

To  aid  her  fellows  or  preserve  herself 

In  her  superior  functions  unimpair'd, 

Thither  she  turns  exulting :  that  she  claims 

As  her  peculiar  good ;  on  that,  through  all  820 

The  fickle  seasons  of  the  day,  she  looks 

With  reverence  still ;  to  that,  as  to  a  fence 

Against  affliction  and  the  darts  of  pain, 

Her  drooping  hopes  repair ;  and,  once  oppos'd 

To  that,  all  other  pleasure,  other  wealth, 

Vile,  as  the  dross  upon  the  molten  gold, 

Appears,  and  loathsome  as  the  briny  sea 

To  him  who  languishes  with  thirst  and  sighs 

For  some  known  fountain  pure.  For  what  can  strive 

With  Virtue?   Which  of  Nature's  regions  vast    wo 

Can  in  so  many  forms  produce  to  sight 

Such  powerful  Beauty.  ?     Beauty,  which  the  eye 

Of  Hatred  cannot  look  upon  secure ; 

Which  Envy's  self  contemplates,  and  is  turn'd 

Ere  long  to  tenderness,  to  infant  smiles, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  239 

Or  tears  of  humblest  love.     Is  aught  so  fair 
In  all  the  dewy  landscapes  of  the  Spring, 
The  Summer's  noontide  groves,  the  purple  eve 
At  harvest-home,  or  in  the  frosty  moon  ssa 

Glittering  on  some  smooth  sea ;  is  aught  so  fair 
As  virtuous  friendship  ?  as  the  honour'd  roof 
Whither  from  highest  heaven  immortal  Love 
His  torch  ethereal  and  his  golden  bow 
Propitious  brings,  and  there  a  temple  holds 
To  whose  unspotted  service  gladly  vow'd 
The  social  band  of  parent,  brother,  child, 
With  smiles  and  sweet  discourse  and  gentle  deeds 
Adore  his  power  ?     What  gift  of  richest  clime 
E'er  drew  such  eager  eyes,  or  prompted  such 
Deep  wishes,  as  the  zeal  that  snatcheth  back       sso 
From  Slander's  poisonous  tooth  a  foe's  renown ; 
Or  crosseth  danger  in  his  lion  walk, 
A  rival's  life  to  rescue  ?  as  the  young 
Athenian  .warrior  sitting  iown  in  bonds, 
That  his  great  father's  body  might  not  want 
A  peaceful,  humble  tomb  ?  the  Roman  wife 
Teaching  her  lord  how  harmless  was  the  wound 
Of  death,  how  impotent  the  tyrant's  rage, 
Who  nothing  more  could  threaten  to  afflict 
Their  faithful  love  ?     Or  is  there  in  the  abyss,    wo 
Is  there  among  the  adamantine  spheres 
Wheeling  unshaken  through  the  boundless  void, 
Aught  that  with  half  such  majesty  can  fill 
The  human  bosom,  as  when  Brutus  rose 
Refulgent  from  the  stroke  of  Caesar's  fate 


240  THE   PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Amid  the  crowd  of  patriots ;  and,  his  arm 
Aloft  extending  like  eternal  Jove 
When  guilt  brings  down  the  thunder,  call'd  aloud 
On  Tully's  name,  and  shook  the  crimson  sword 
Of  justice  in  his  rapt  astoriish'd  eye,  S7o 

And  bade  the  father  of  his  country  hail, 
For  lo,  the  tyrant  prostrate  on  the  dust, 
And  Rome  again  is  free  ?     Thus,  thro'  the  paths 
Of  human  life,  in  various  pomp  array'd 
Walks  the  wise  daughter  of  the  judge  of  heaven, 
Fair  Virtue  ;  from  her  father's  throne  supreme 
Sent  down  to  utter  laws,  such  as  on  earth 
Most  apt  he  knew,  most  powerful  to  promote 
The  weal  of  all  his  works,  the  gracious  end 
Of  his  dread  empire.     And  tho'  haply  man's       sao 
Obscurer  sight,  so  far  beyond  himself 
And  the  brief  labours  of  his  little  home, 
Extends  not ;  yet,  by  the  bright  presence  won 
Of  this  divine  instructress,  to  her  sway 
Pleas'd  he  assents,  nor  heeds  the  distant  goal 
To  which  her  voice  conducts  him.    Thus  hath  God, 
Still  looking  toward  his  own  high  purpose,  fix'd 
The  virtues  of  his  creatures ;  thus  he  rules 
The  parent's  fondness  and  the  patriot's  zeal ; 
Thus  the  warm  sense  of  honour  and  of  shame; 
The  vows  of  gratitude,  the  faith  of  love ;  sn 

And  all  the  comely  intercourse  of  praise, 
The  joy  of  human  life,  the  earthly  heaven ! 
How  far  unlike  them  must  the  lot  of  guilt 
Be  found  ?     Or  what  terrestrial  woe  can  match 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK    II.  241 

The  self-convicted  bosom,  which  hath  wrought 

The  bane  of  others,  or  enslav'd  itself 

"With  shackles  vile  ?     Not  poison,  nor  sharp  fire, 

Nor  the  worst  pangs  that  ever  monkish  hate 

Suggested,  or  despotic  rage  impos'd,  400 

Were  at  that  season  an  unwish'd  exchange : 

"When  the  soul  loathes  herself;  when,  flying  thence 

To  crowds,  on  every  brow  she  sees  portray'd 

Fell  demons,  Hate  or  Scorn,  which  drive  her  back 

To  solitude,  her  judge's  voice  divine 

To  hear  in  secret,  haply  sounding  through 

The  troubled  dreams  of  midnight,  and  still,  still 

Demanding  for  his  violated  laws 

Fit  recompense,  or  charging  her  own  tongue 

To  speak  the  award  of  justice  on  herself.  410 

For  well  she  knows  what  faithful  hints  within 

Were  whisper'd,  to  beware  the  lying  forms 

Which  turn'd  her  footsteps  from  the  safer  way ; 

What  cautions  to  suspect  their  painted  dress, 

And  look  with  steady  eyelid  on  their  smiles, 

Their  frowns,  their  tears.  In  vain :  the  dazzling  hues 

Of  Fancy,  and  Opinion's  eager  voice, 

Too  much  prevail'd.     For  mortals  tread  the  path 

In  which  Opinion  says  they  follow  good 

Or  fly  from  evil ;  and  Opinion  gives  420 

Report  of  good  or  evil,  as  the  scene 

Was  drawn  by  Fancy,  pleasing  or  deform'd : 

Thus  her  report  can  never  there  be  true 

Where  Fancy  cheats  the  intellectual  eye 

With  glaring  colours  and  distorted  lines. 


242  THE   PLEASURES    OF    THE 

Is  there  a  man  to  whom  the  name  of  death 
Brings  terror's  ghastly  pageants  conjur'd  up 
Before  him,  death-bed  groans,  and  dismal  vows, 
And  the  frail  soul  plung'd  headlong  from  the  brink 
Of  life  and  daylight  down  the  gloomy  air,  4» 

An  unknown  depth,  to  gulfs  of  torturing  fire 
Unvisited  by  mercy  ?     Then  what  hand 
Can  snatch  this  dreamer  from  the  fatal  toils 
Which  Fancy  and  Opinion  thus  conspire 
To  twine  around  his  heart  ?     Or  who  shall  hush 
Their  clamour,  when  they  tell  him  that  to  die, 
To  risk  those  horrors,  is  a  direr  curse 
Than  basest  life  can  bring?  Tho'  Love,  with  prayers 
Most  tender,  with  affliction's  sacred  tears, 
Beseech  his  aid  ;  though  Gratitude  and  Faith     «c 
Condemn  each  step  which  loiters ;  yet  let  none 
Make  answer  for  him,  that,  if  any  frown 
Of  Danger  thwart  his  path,  he  will  not  stay 
Content,  and  be  a  wretch  to  be  secure. 
Here  Vice  begins  then :  at  the  gate  of  life, 
Ere  the  young  multitude  to  diverse  roads 
Part,  like  fond  pilgrims  on  a  journey  unknown, 
Sits  Fancy,  deep  enchantress ;  and  to  each, 
With  kind,  maternal  looks,  presents  her  bowl, 
A  potent  beverage.     Heedless  they  comply ;       <so 
Till  the  whole  soul  from  that  mysterious  draught 
Is  ting'd,  and  every  transient  thought  imbibes 
Of  gladness  or  disgust,  desire  or  fear, 
One  homebred  colour :  which  not  all  the  lights 
Of  Science  e'er  shall  change ;  not  all  the  storms    , 


IMAGINATION.       BOOK    II.  243 

Of  adverse  Fortune  wash  away,  nor  yet 
The  robe  of  purest  Virtue  quite  conceal. 
Thence  on  they  pass,  where  meeting  frequent  shapes 
Of  good  and  evil,  cunning  phantoms  apt  459 

To  fire  or  freeze  the  breast,  with  them  they  join 
In  dangerous  parley ;  listening  oft,  and  oft 
Gazing  with  reckless  passion,  while  its  garb 
The  spectre  heightens,  and  its  pompous  tale 
Repeats  with  some  new  circumstance  to  suit 
That  early  tincture  of  the  hearer's  soul. 
And  should  the  guardian,  Reason,  but  for  one 
Short  moment  yield  to  this  illusive  scene 
His  ear  and  eye,  the  intoxicating  charm 
Involves  him,  till  no  longer  he  discerns, 
Or  only  guides  to  err.     Then  revel  forth  470 

A  furious  band  that  spurn  him  from  the  throne, 
And  all  is  uproar.     Hence  Ambition  climbs 
With  sliding  feet  and  hands  impure,  to  grasp 
Those  solemn  toys  which  glitter  in  his  view 
On  Fortune's  rugged  steep ;  hence  pale  Revenge 
Unsheaths  her  murderous  dagger ;  Rapine  hence 
And  envious  Lust,  by  venal  fraud  upborne, 
Surmount  the  reverend  barrier  of  the  laws 
Which  kept  them  from  their  prey ;  hence  all  the 

crimes 

That  e'er  defiled  the  earth,  and  all  the  plagues   4so 
That  follow  them  for  vengeance,  in  the  guise 
Of  Honour,  Safety,  Pleasure,  Ease,  or  Pomp, 
Stole  first  into  the  fond  believing  mind. 
Yet  not  by  Fancy's  witchcraft  on  the  brain 


244  THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Are  always  the  tumultuous  passions  driven 
To  guilty  deeds,  nor  Reason  bound  in  chains 
That  Vice  alone  may  lord  it.     Oft  adorn'd 
With  motley  pageants,  Folly  mounts  his  throne, 
And  plays  her  idiot  antics,  like  a  queen.  435 

A  thousand  garbs  she  wears ;  a  thousand  ways 
She  whirls  her  giddy  empire.     Lo,  thus  far 
With  bold  adventure  to  the  Mantuan  lyre 
I  sing  for  contemplation  link'd  with  love, 
A  pensive  theme.     Now  haply  should  my  song 
Unbend  that  serious  countenance,  and  learn 
Thalia's  tripping  gait,  her  shrill-ton'd  voice, 
Her  wiles  familiar :  whether  scorn  she  darts 
In  wanton  ambush  from  her  lip  or  eye, 
Or  whether,  with  a  sad  disguise  of  care 
O'ermantling  her  gay  brow,  she  acts  in  sport      MO 
The  deeds  of  Folly,  and  from  all  sides  round 
Calls  forth  impetuous  Laughter's  gay  rebuke ; 
Her  province.     But  through  every  comic  scene 
To  lead  my  Muse  with  her  light  pencil  arm'd ; 
Through  every  swift  occasion  which  the  hand 
Of  Laughter  points  at,  when  the  mirthful  sting 
Distends  her  labouring  sides  and  chokes  her  tongue ; 
Were  endless  as  to  sound  each  grating  note 
With  which  the  rooks,  and  chattering  daws,  and 
Unwieldy  inmates  of  the  village  pond,          [grave 
The  changing  seasons  of  the  sky  proclaim ;         «u 
Sun,  cloud,  or  shower.     Suffice  it  to  have  said, 
Where'er  the  power  of  Ridicule  displays 
Her  quaint-eyed  visage,  some  incongruous  form, 


i 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  245 

Some  stubborn  dissonance  of  things  combin'd, 
Strikes  on  her  quick  perception :  whether  Pomp 
Or  Praise  or  Beauty  be  dragg'd  in  and  shown 
Where  sordid  fashions,  where  ignoble  deeds, 
Where  foul  Deformity  is  wont  to  dwell ; 
Or  whether  these,  with  shrewd  and  wayward  spite, 
Invade  resplendent  Pomp's  imperious  mien,         «a 
The  charms  of  Beauty,  or  the  boast  of  Praise. 

Ask  we  for  what  fair  end  the  Almighty  Sire 
In  mortal  bosoms  stirs  this  gay  contempt, 
These  grateful  pangs  of  laughter ;  from  disgust 
Educing  pleasure  ?     Wherefore  but  to  aid 
The  tardy  steps  of  Reason,  and  at  once 
By  this  prompt  impulse  urge  us  to  depress 
Wild  Folly's  aims  ?     For  though  the  sober  light  - 
Of  Truth,  slow  dawning  on  the  watchful  mind,   sso 
At  length  unfolds,  through  many  a  subtile  tie, 
How  these  uncouth  disorders  end  at  last 
In  public  evil ;  yet  benignant  Heaven, 
Conscious  how  dim  the  dawn  of  Truth  appears 
To  thousands,  conscious  what  a  scanty  pause 
From  labour  and  from  care  the  wider  lot 
Of  humble  life  affords  for  studious  thought 
To  scan  the  maze  of  Nature,  therefore  stamp'd 
These  glaring  scenes  with  characters  of  scorn, 
As  broad,  as  obvious  to  the  passing  clown  MO 

As  to  the  letter'd  sage's  curious  eye. 

But  other  evils  o'er  the  steps  of  man 
Thro'  all  his  walks  impend ;  against  whose  might 
The  slender  darts  of  Laughter  nought  avail : 


246  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

A  trivial  warfare.     Some,  like  cruel  guards, 

On  Nature's  ever-moving  throne  attend ; 

With  mischief  arm'd  for  him  whoe'er  shall  thwart 

The  path  of  her  inexorable  wheels, 

While  she  pursues  the  work  that  must  be  done 

Thro'  ocean,  earth,  and  air.    Hence,  frequent  forms 

Of  woe  :  the  merchant,  with  his  wealthy  bark,    551 

Buried  by  dashing  waves  ;  the  traveller, 

Pierc'd  by  the  pointed  lightning  in  his  haste ; 

And  the  poor  husbandman,  with  folded  arms, 

Surveying  his  lost  labours,  and  a  heap 

Of  blasted  chaff  the  product  of  the  field 

Whence  he  expected  bread.     But  worse  than  these 

I  deem,  far  worse,  that  other  race  of  ills 

Which  human  kind  rear  up  among  themselves ; 

That  horrid  offspring  which  misgovern'd  Will      sso 

Bears  to  fantastic  Error ;  vices,  crimes, 

Furies  that  curse  the  earth,  and  make  the  blows, 

The  heaviest  blows,  of  Nature's  innocent  hand 

Seem  sport ;  which  are  indeed  but  as  the  care 

Of  a  wise  parent,  who  solicits  good 

To  all  her  house,  though  haply  at  the  price 

Of  tears  and  froward  wailing  and  reproach 

From  some  unthinking  child,  whom  not  the  less 

Its  mother  destines  to  be  happy  still. 

These  sources  then  of  pain,  this  double  lot      wo 
Of  evil  in  the  inheritance  of  man, 
Hequir'd  for  his  protection  no  slight  force, 
No  careless  watch ;  and  therefore  was  his  breast 
Fenc'd  round  with  passions  quick  to  be  alarm'd, 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  247 

Or  stubborn  to  oppose ;  with  Fear,  more  swift 

Than  beacons  catching  flame  from  hill  to  hill, 

Where  armies  land  ;  with  Anger,  uncontroll'd 

As  the  young  lion  bounding  on  his  prey ; 

With  Sorrow,  that  locks  up  the  struggling  heart ; 

And  Shame,  that  overcasts  the  drooping  eye       sa> 

As  with  a  cloud  of  lightning.     These  the  part 

Perform  of  eager  monitors,  and  goad 

The  soul  more  sharply  than  with  points  of  steel, 

Her  enemies  to  shun  or  to  resist. 

And  as  those  passions  that  converse  with  good 

Are  good  themselves ;  as  Hope  and  Love  and  Joy, 

Among  the  fairest  and  the  sweetest  boons 

Of  life,  we  rightly  count :  so  these,  which  guard 

Against  invading  evil,  still  excite 

Some  pain,  some  tumult :  these,  within  the  mind 

Too  oft  admitted  or  too  long  retain'd,  '     .  591 

Shock  their  frail  seat,  and  by  their  uncurb'd  rage 

To  savages  more  fell  than  Libya  breeds 

Transform  themselves ;  till  human  thought  becomes 

A  gloomy  ruin,  haunt  of  shapes  unbless'd, 

Of  self-tormenting  fiends :  Horror,  Despair, 

Hatred,  and  wicked  Envy ;,  foes  to  all 

The  works  of  Nature  and  the  gifts  of  Heaven. 

But  when  thro'  blameless  paths  to  righteous  ends 
Those  keener  passions  urge  the  awaken'd  soul,    «» 
I  would  not,  as  ungracious  violence, 
Their  sway  describe,  nor  from  their  free  career 
The  fellowship  of  Pleasure  quite  exclude. 
For  what  can  render,  to  the  self-approv'd, 


248  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

Their  temper  void  of  comfort,  though  in  pain  ? 
Who  knows  not  with  what  majesty  divine 
The  forms  of  Truth  and  Justice  to  the  mind 
Appear,  ennobling  oft  the  sharpest  woe 
With  triumph  and  rejoicing  ?     Who  that  bears 
A  human  bosom  hath  not  often  felt  sio 

How  dear  are  all  those  ties  which  bind  our  race 
In  gentleness  together,  and  how  sweet 
Their  force,  let  Fortune's  wayward  hand  the  while 
Be  kind  or  cruel  ?     Ask  the  faithful  youth 
Why  the  cold  urn  of  her  whom  long  he  lov'd 
So  often  fills  his  arms ;  so  often  draws 
His  lonely  footsteps,  silent  and  unseen, 
To  pay  the  mournful  tribute  of  his  tears  ? 
Oh !  he  will  tell  thee  that  the  wealth  of  worlds 
Should  ne'er  seduce  his  bosom  to  forego  620 

Those  sacred  hours,  when,  stealing  from  the  noise 
Of  care  and  envy,  sweet  remembrance  soothes 
With  Virtue's  kindest  looks  his  aching  breast, 
And  turns  his  tears  to  rapture  ?     Ask  the  crowd, 
Which  flies  impatient  from  the  village  walk 
To  climb  the  neighbouring  cliffs,  when  far  below 
The  savage  winds  have  hurl'd  upon  the  coast 
Some  helpless  bark ;  while  holy  Pity  melts 
The  general  eye,  or  Terror's  icy  hand 
Smites  their  distorted  limbs  and  horrent  hair ;     eao 
While  every  mother  closer  to  her  breast 
Catcheth  her  child,  and,  pointing  where  the  waves 
Foam  through  the  shatter'd  vessels,  shrieks  aloud 
As  one  poor  wretch,  who  spreads  his  piteous 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   II.  249 

For  succour,  swallow'd  by  the  roaring  surge, 
As  now  another,  dash'd  against  the  rock, 
Drops  lifeless  down.     O  !  deemest  thou  indeed 
No  pleasing  influence  here  by  Nature  given 
To  mutual  terror  and  compassion's  tears  ? 
No  tender  charm  mysterious,  which  attracts         wo 
O'er  all  that  edge  of  pain  the  social  powers 
To  this  their  proper  action  and  their  end  ? 
Ask  thy  own  heart,  when,  at  the  midnight  hour, 
Slow  through  that  pensive  gloom  thy  pausing  eye, 
Led  by  the  glimmering  taper,  moves  around 
The  reverend  volumes  of  the  dead,  the  songs 
Of  Grecian  bards,  and  records  writ  by  fame 
For  Grecian  heroes,  where  the  Sovran  Power 
Of  heaven  and  earth  surveys  the  immortal  page, 
Even  as  a  father  meditating  all  sso 

The  praises  of  his  son,  and  bids  the  rest 
Of  mankind  there  the  fairest  model  learn 
Of  their  own  nature,  and  the  noblest  deeds 
Which  yet  the  world  hath  seen.     If  then  thy  soul 
Join  in  the  lot  of  those  diviner  men ; 
Say,  when  the  prospect  darkens  on  thy  view; 
When,  sunk  by  many  a  wound,  heroic  states 
Mourn  in  the  dust,  and  tremble  at  the  frown 
Of  hard  Ambition ;  when  the  generous  band 
Of  youths  who  fought  for  freedom  and  their  sires 
Lie  side  by  side  in  death ;  when  brutal  Force     e&i 
Usurps  the  throne  of  Justice,  turns  the  pomp 
Of  guardian  power,  the  majesty  of  rule, 
The  sword,  the  laurel,  and  the  purple  robe, 
K 


250  THE   PLEASURES    OF    THE 

To  poor,  dishonest  pageants,  to  adorn 

A  robber's  walk,  and  glitter  in  the  eyes 

Of  such  as  bow  the  knee ;  when  beauteous  works, 

Rewards  of  virtue,  sculptur'd  forms  which  deck'd 

With  more  than  human  grace  the  warrior's  arch 

Or  patriot's  tomb,  now  victims  to  appease  ero 

Tyrannic  envy,  strew  the  common  path 

With  awful  ruins ;  when  the  Muse's  haunt, 

The  marble  porch  where  Wisdom  wont  to  talk 

With  Socrates  or  Tully,  hears  no  more 

Save  the  hoarse  jargon  of  contentious  monks, 

Or  female  Superstition's  midnight  prayer ; 

When  ruthless  Havoc  from  the  hand  of  Time 

Tears  the  destroying  scythe,  with  surer  stroke 

To  mow  the  monuments  of  Glory  down ; 

Till  Desolation  o'er  the  grass-grown  street          eso 

Expands  her  raven  wings,  and  from  the  gate 

Where  senates  once  the  weal  of  nations  plann'd 

Hisseth  the  gliding  snake  through  hoary  weeds 

That  clasp  the  mouldering  column :  thus  when  all 

The  widely-mournful  scene  is  fix'd  within 

Thy  throbbing  bosom ;  when  the  patriot's  tear 

Starts  from  thine  eye,  and  thy  extended  arm 

In  fancy  hurls  the  thunderbolt  of  Jove 

To  fire  the  impious  wreath  on  Philip's  brow, 

Or  dash  Octavius  from  the  trophied  car ;  eao 

Say,  doth  thy  secret  soul  repine  to  taste 

The  big  distress  ?  or  wouldst  thou  then  exchange 

Those  heart-ennobling  sorrows  for  the  lot 

Of  him  who  sits  amid  the  gaudy  herd 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK  III.  251 

Of  silent  flatterers  bending  to  his  nod ; 

And  o'er  them,  like  a  giant,  casts  his  eye, 

And  says  within  himself,  "  I  am  a  King, 

And  wherefore  should  the  clamorous  voice  of  woe 

Intrude  upon  mine  ear  ?  "     The  dregs  corrupt 

Of  barbarous  ages,  that  Circsean  draught  700 

Of  servitude  and  folly,  have  not  yet, 

Bless'd  be  the  Eternal  Ruler  of  the  world ! 

Yet  have  not  so  dishonour'd,  so  deform'd 

The  native  judgment  of  the  human  soul, 

Nor  so  effac'd  the  image  of  her  Sire. 


BOOK   III.     1770. 

WHAT  tongue,  then,  may  explain  the  various  fate- 
Which  reigns  o'er  earth  ?  or  who  to  mortal  eyes 
Illustrate  this  perplexing  labyrinth 
Of  joy  and  woe  through  which  the  feet  of  man 
Are  doom'd  to  wander?     That  Eternal  Mind 
From  passions,  wants,  and  envy  far  estrang'd, 
Who  built  the  spacious  universe,  and  deck'd 
Each  part  so  richly  with  whate'er  pertains 
To  life,  to  health,  to  pleasure ;  why  bade  he 
The  viper  Evil,  creeping  in,  pollute  10 

The  goodly  scene,  and  with  insidious  rage, 
While  the  poor  inmate  looks  around  and  smiles, 


252  THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Dart  her  fell  sting  with  poison  to  his  soul  ? 
Hard  is  the  question,  and  from  ancient  days 
Hath  still  oppress'd  with  care  the  sage's  thought ; 
Hath  drawn  forth  accents  from  the  poet's  lyre 
Too  sad,  too  deeply  plaintive :  nor  did  e'er 
Those  chiefs  of  human  kind,  from  whom  the  light 
Of  heavenly  truth  first  gleam'd  on  barbarous  lands, 
Forget  this  dreadful  secret  when  they  told  20 

What  wondrous  things  had  to  their  favour'd  eyes 
And  ears  on  cloudy  mountain  been  reveal'd, 
Or  in  deep  cave,  by  nymph  or  power  divine, 
Portentous  oft  and  wild.     Yet  one  I  know, 
Could  I  the  speech  of  lawgivers  assume, 
One  old  and  splendid  tale  I  would  record 
With  which  the  Muse  of  Solon  in  sweet  strains 
Adorn'd  this  theme  profound,  and  render'd  all 
Its  darkness,  all  its  terrors,  bright  as  noon, 
Or  gentle  as  the  golden  star  of  eve.  so 

Who  knows  not  Solon  ?  last,  and  wisest  far, 
Of  those  whom  Greece,  triumphant  in  the  height 
Of  glory,  styl'd  her  fathers  ?  him  whose  voice 
Through  Athens  hush'd  the  storm  of  civil  wrath ; 
Taught  envious  Want  and  cruel  Wealth  to  join 
In  friendship ;  and,  with  sweet  compulsion,  tam'd 
Minerva's  eager  people  to  his  laws, 
Which  their  own  goddess  in  his  breast  inspir'd  ? 

'Twas  now  the  time  when  his  heroic  task          39 
Seem'd  but  perform'd  in  vain :  when,  sooth'd  by  years 
Of  flattering  service,  the  fond  multitude 
Hung  with  their  sudden  counsels  on  the  breath 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  253 

Of  great  Pisistratus ;  that  chief  renown'd, 
Whom  Hermes  and  the  Idalian  queen  had  train'd, 
Even  from  his  birth,  to  every  powerful  art 
Of  pleasing  and  persuading ;  from  whose  lips 
Flow'd  eloquence,  which,  like  the  vows  of  love, 
Could  steal  away  suspicion  from  the  hearts 
Of  all  who  listen'd.     Thus  from  day  to  day 
,He  won  the  general  suffrage,  and  beheld  «o 

Each  rival  overshadow'd  and  depress'd 
Beneath  his  ampler  state ;  yet  oft  complain'd, 
As  one  less  kindly  treated,  who  had  hop'd 
To  merit  favour,  but  submits  perforce 
To  find  another's  services  preferr'd, 
Nor  yet  relaxeth  aught  of  faith  or  zeal. 
Then  tales  were  scatter'd  of  his  envious  foes, 
Of  snares  that  watch'd  his  fame,  of  daggers  aim'd 
Against'his  life.     At  last,  with  trembling  limbs, 
His  hair  diffus'd  and  wild,  his  garments  loose,      eo 
And  stain'd  with  blood  from  self-inflicted  wounds, 
He  burst  into  the  public  place,  as  there, 
There  only,  were  his  refuge ;  and  declar'd 
In  broken  words,  with  sighs  of  deep  regret, 
The  mortal  danger  he  had  scarce  repelPd. 
Fir'd  with  his  tragic  tale,  tjie  indignant  crowd 
To  guard  his  steps,  forthwith  a  menial  band, 
Array'd  beneath  his  eye  for  deeds  of  war, 
Decree.     O  still  too  liberal  of  their  trust, 
And  oft  betray'd  by  over-grateful  love,  70 

The  generous  people !     Now  behold  him  fenc'd 
By  mercenary  weapons,  like  a  king, 


254  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

Forth  issuing  from  the  city -gate  at  eve 

To  seek  his  rural  mansion,  and  with  pomp 

Crowding  the  public  road.     The  swain  stops  short, 

And  sighs ;  the  officious  townsmen  stand  at  gaze, 

And  shrinking  give  the  sullen  pageant  room. 

Yet  not  the  less  obsequious  was  his  brow ; 

Nor  less  profuse  of  courteous  words  his  tongue, 

Of  gracious  gifts  his  hand :  the  while  by  stealth, 

Like  a  small  torrent  fed  with  evening  showers,    ao 

His  train  increas'd ;  till  at  that  fatal  time, 

Just  as  the  public  eye,  with  doubt ^and  shame 

Startled,  began  to  question  what  it  saw, 

Swift  as  the  sound  of  earthquakes  rush'd  a  voice 

Through  Athens,  that  Pisistratus  had  fill'd 

The  rocky  citadel  with  hostile  arms, 

Had  barr'd  the  steep  ascent,  and  sate  within 

Amid  his  hirelings,  meditating  death          • 

To  all  whose  stubborn  necks  his  yoke  refus'd.      so 

Where  then  was  Solon  ?     After  ten  long  years 

Of  absence,  full  of  haste  from  foreign  shores 

The  sage,  the  lawgiver  had  now  arriv'd  j 

Arriv'd,  alas !  to  see  that  Athens,  that 

Fair  temple  rais'd  by  him  and  sacred  calTd 

To  Liberty  and  Concord,  now  profan'd 

By  savage  hate,  or  sunk  into  a  den 

Of  slaves  who  crouch  beneath  the  master's  scourge, 

And  deprecate  his  wrath  and  court  his  chains. 

Yet  did  not  the  wise  patriot's  grief  impede          100 

His  virtuous  will,  nor  was  his  heart  inclin'd 

One  moment  with  such  woman-like  distress 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  255 

To  view  the  transient  storms  of  civil  war, 
As  thence  to  yield  his  country  and  her  hopes 
To  all-devouring  bondage.     His  bright  helm, 
Even  while  the  traitor's  impious  act  is  told, 
He  buckles  on  his  hoary  head ;  he  girds 
With  mail  his  stooping  breast ;  the  shield,  the  spear 
He  snatcheth ;  and  with  swift  indignant  strides 
The  assembled  people  seeks ;  proclaims  aloud     no 
It  was  no  time  for  counsel ;  in  their  spears 
Lay  all  their  prudence  now ;  the  tyrant  yet 
"Was  not  so  firmly  seated  on  his  throne, 
But  that  one  shock  of  their  united  force 
Would  dash  him  from  the  summit  of  his  pride 
Headlong  and  grovelling  in  the  dust.   "  What  else 
Can  re-assert  the  lost  Athenian  name 
So  cheaply  to  the  laughter  of  the  world 
Betray'd ;  by  guile  beneath  an  infant's  faith 
So  mock'd  and  scorn'd  ?  Away,  then:  Freedom  now 
And  Safety  dwell  not  but  with  Fame  in  Arms :  121 
Myself  will  show  you  where  their  mansion  lies, 
And  through  the  walks  of  Danger  or  of  Death 
Conduct  you  to  them."  While  he  spake,  through  all 
Their  crowded  ranks  his  quick  sagacious  eye 
He  darted ;  where  no  cheerful  voice  was  heard 
Of  social  daring ;  no  stretch'd  arm  was  seen 
Hastening  their  common  task :  but  pale  mistrust 
Wrinkled  each  brow ;  they  shook  their  heads,  and 

down 
Their  slack  hands  hung ;  cold  sighs  and  whisper'd 

doubts  120 


256  THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

From  breath  to  breath  stole  round.      The  sage 

meantime 

Look?d  speechless  on,  while  his  big  bosom  heav'd 
Struggling  with  shame  and  sorrow :  till  at  last 
A  tear  broke  forth  ;  and,  "  0  immortal  shades, 
O  Theseus,"  he  exclaim'd,  "  0  Codrus,  where, 
Where  are  ye  now  ?  behold  for  what  ye  toil'd 
Through  life !  behold  for  whom  ye  chose  to  die." 
No  more  he  added ;  but  with  lonely  steps 
Weary  and  slow,  his  silver  beard  depress'd, 
And  his  stern  eyes  bent  heedless  on  the  ground, 
Back  to  his  silent  dwelling  he  repair'd.  MI 

There  o'er  the  gate,  his  armour,  as  a  man 
Whom  from  the  service  of  the  war  his  chief 
Dismisseth  after  no  inglorious  toil, 
He  fix'd  in  general  view.     One  wishful  look 
He  sent,  unconscious,  toward  the  public  place 
At  parting ;  then  beneath  his  quiet  roof 
Without  a  word,  without  a  sigh,  retir'd. 

Scarce  had  the  morrow's  sun  his  golden  rays 
From  sweet  Hymettus  darted  o'er  the  fanes        iw 
Of  Cecrops  to  the  Salaminian  shores, 
When,  lo,  on  Solon's  threshold  met  the  feet 
Of  four  Athenians  by  the  same  sad  care 
Conducted  all ;  than  whom  the  state  beheld 
None  nobler.     First  came  Megacles,  the  son 
Of  great  Alcmason,  whom  the  Lydian  king, 
The  mild,  unhappy  Croesus,  in  his  days 
Of  glory  had  with  costly  gifts  adorn'd, 
Fair  vessels,  splendid  garments,  tinctur'd 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  257 

And  heaps  of  treasur'd  gold,  beyond  the  lot        w» 
Of  many  sovereigns ;  thus  requiting  well 
That  hospitable  favour  which  erewhile 
Alcmaeon  to  his  messengers  had  shown, 
Whom  he  with  offerings  worthy  of  the  god 
Sent  from  his  throne  in  Sardis  to  revere 
Apollo's  Delphic  shrine.     With  Megacles 
Approach'd  his  son,  whom  Agarista  bore, 
The  virtuous  child  of  Clisthenes  whose  hand 
Of  Grecian  sceptres  the  most  ancient  far 
In  Sicyon  sway'd ;  but  greater  fame  he  drew      MO 
From  arms  controll'd  by  justice,  from  the  love 
Of  the  wise  Muses,  and  the  unenvied  wreath 
Which  glad  Olympia  gave.     For  thither  once 
His  warlike  steeds  the  hero  led,  and  there 
Contended  through  the  tumult  of  the  course 
With  skilful  wheels.     Then  victor  at  the  goal, 
Amid  the  applauses  of  assembled  Greece, 
High  on  his  car  he  stood  and  wav'd  his  arm. 
Silence  ensued ;  when  straight  the  herald's  voice 
Was  heard,  inviting  every  Grecian  youth,  ia> 

Whom  Clisthenes  content  might  call  his  son, 
To  visit,  ere  twice  thirty  days  were  pass'd, 
The  towers  of  Sicyon.     There  the  chief  decreed, 
Within  the  circuit  of  the  following  year, 
To  join  at  Hymen's  altar,  hand  in  hand 
With  his  fair  daughter,  him  among  the  guests 
Whom  worthiest  he  should  deem.    Forthwith  from 

all 
The  bounds  of  Greece  the  ambitious  wooers  carae : 


258  THE    PLEASURES    OF   THE 

From  rich  Hesperia ;  from  the  Illyrian  shore 
Where  Epidamnus  over  Adria's  surge  190 

Looks  on  the  setting  sun ;  from  those  brave  tribes 
Chaonian  or  Molossian,  whom  the  race 
Of  great  Achilles  governs,  glorying  still 
In  Troy  o'erthrown ;  from  rough  JEtolia,  nurse 
Of  men  who  first  among  the  Greeks  threw  off 
The  yoke  of  kings,  to  commerce  and  to  arms 
Devoted ;  from  Thessalia's  fertile  meads, 
Where  flows  Peneus  near  the  lofty  walls 
Of  Cranon  old ;  from  strong  Eretria,  queen 
Of  all  Euboean  cities,  who,  sublime  200 

On  the  steep  margin  of  Euripus,  views 
Across  the  tide  the  Marathonian  plain, 
Not  yet  the  haunt  of  glory.     Athens  too, 
Minerva's  care,  among  her  graceful  sons 
Found  equal  lovers  for  the  princely  maid : 
Nor  was  proud  Argos  wanting ;  nor  the  domes 
Of  sacred  Elis ;  nor  the  Arcadian  groves 
That  overshade  Alpheus,  echoing  oft 
Some  shepherd's  song.      But  through  the  illus 
trious  band 

Was  none  who  might  with  Megacles  compare     210 
In  all  the  honours  of  unblemish'd  youth. 
His  was  the  beauteous  bride :  and  now  their  son 
Young  Clisthenes,  betimes,  at  Solon's  gate 
Stood  anxious ;  leaning  forward  on  the  arm 
Of  his  great  sire,  with  earnest  eyes  that  ask'd 
When  the  slow  hinge  would  turn,  with  restless  feet, 
And  cheeks  now  pale,  now  glowing :  for  his  heart 


IMAGINATION.       BOOK    III.  259 

Throbb'd  full  of  bursting  passions,  anger,  grief 

"With  scorn  imbitter'd,  by  the  generous  boy 

Scarce  understood,  but  which,  like  noble  seeds, 

Are  destin'd  for  his  country  and  himself  221 

In  riper  years  to  bring  forth  fruits  divine 

Of  liberty  and  glory.     Next  appear'd 

Two  brave  companions,  whom  one  mother  bore 

To  different  lords ;  but  whom  the  better  ties 

Of  firm  esteem  and  friendship  render'd  more 

Than  brothers  :  first  Miltiades,  who  'drew 

From  godlike  ^Eacus  his  ancient  line ; 

That  JEacus  whose  unirnpeach'd  renown 

For  sanctity  and  justice  won  the  lyre  230 

Of  elder  bards  to  celebrate  him  thron'd 

In  Hades  o'er  the  dead,  where  his  decrees 

The  guilty  soul  within  the  burning  gates 

Of  Tartarus  compel,  or  send  the  good 

To  inhabit  with  eternal  health  and  peace 

The  valleys  of  Elysium.     From  a  stem 

So  sacred,  ne'er  could  worthier  scion  spring 

Than  this  Miltiades ;  whose  aid  ere  long 

The  chiefs  of  Thrace,  already  on  their  ways 

Sent  by  the  inspir'd  foreknowing  maid  who  sits 

Upon  the  Delphic  tripod,  shall  implore  241 

To  wield  their  sceptre,  and  the  rural  wealth 

Of  fruitful  Chersonesus  to  protect 

With  arms  and  laws.     But,  nothing  careful  now 

Save  for  his  injur'd  country,  here  he  stands 

In  deep  solicitude  with  Cimon  join'd ; 

Unconscious  both  what  widely  different  lots 


260  THE    PLEASURES    OP   THE 

Await  them,  taught  by  nature  as  they  are 

To  know  one  common  good,  one  common  ill. 

For  Cimon,  not  his  valour,  not  his  birth  aa 

Deriv'd  from  Codrus,  not  a  thousand  gifts 

Dealt  round  him  with  a  wise,  benignant  hand ; 

No,  not  the  Olympic  olive  by  himself 

From  his  own  brow  transferr'd  to  soothe  the  mind 

Of  this  Pisistratus,  can  long  preserve 

From  the  fell  envy  of  the  tyrant's  sons, 

And  their  assassin  dagger.     But  if  death 

Obscure  upon  his  gentle  steps  attend, 

Yet  fate  an  ample  recompense  prepares 

In  his  victorious  son,  that  other  great  260 

Miltiades,  who  o'er  the  very  throne 

Of  glory  shall,  with  Time's  assiduous  hand, 

In  adamantine  characters  engrave 

The  name  of  Athens ;  and,  by  Freedom  arm'd 

'Gainst  the  gigantic  pride  of  Asia's  king, 

Shall  all  the  achievements  of  the  heroes  old 

Surmount,  of  Hercules,  of  all  who  sail'd 

From  Thessaly  with  Jason,  all  who  fought 

For  empire  or  for  fame  at  Thebes  or  Troy. 

Such  were  the  patriots  who  within  the  porch 
Of  Solon  had  assembled.     But  the  gate  271 

Now  opens,  and  across  the  ample  floor 
Straight  they  proceed  into  an  open  space 
Bright  with  the  beams  of  morn  ;  a  verdant  spot, 
Where  stands  a  rural  altar,  pil'd  with  sods 
Cut  from  the  grassy  turf,  and  girt  with  wreaths 
Of  branching  palm.     Here  Solon's  self  they  found 


! 


IMAGINATION.       BOOK    III.  261 

Clad  in  a  robe  of  purple  pure,  and  deck'd 
With  leaves  of  olive  on  his  reverend  brow. 
He  bow'd  before  the  altar,  and  o'er  cakes  zsc 

Of  barley  from  two  earthen  vessels  pour'd 
Of  honey  and  of  milk  a  plenteous  stream ; 
Calling  meantime  the  Muses  to  accept 
His  simple  offering,  by  no  victim  ting'd 
With  blood,  nor  sullied  by  destroying  fire ; 
But  such  as  for  himself  Apollo  claims 
In  his  own  Delos,  where  his  favourite  haunt 
Is  thence  the  Altar  of  the  Pious  nam'd. 
Unseen  the  guests  drew  near,  and  silent  view'd 
That  worship ;  till  the  hero-priest  his  eye  200 

Turn'd  toward  a  seat  on  which  prepar'd  there  lay 
A  branch  of  laurel.     Then  his  friends  confessed 
Before  him  stood.     Backward  his  step  he  drew, 
As  loth  that  care  or  tumult  should  approach 
Those  early  rights  divine ;  but  soon  their  looks 
So  anxious,  and  their  hands  held  forth  with  such 
Desponding  gesture,  bring  him  on  perforce 
To  speak  to  their  affliction.     "  Are  ye  come," 
He  cried,  "  to  mourn  with  me  this  common  shame  ? 
Or  ask  ye  some  new  effort  which  may  break       soo 
Our  fetters  ?     Know,  then,  of  the  public  cause 
Not  for  yon  traitor's  cunning  or  his  might 
Do  I  despair ;  nor  could  I  wish  from  Jove 
Aught  dearer,  than  at  this  late  hour  of  life, 
As  once  by  laws,  so  now  by  strenuous  arms, 
From  impious  violation  to  assert 
The  rights  our  fathers  left  us.     But,  alas  I 


262  THE   PLEASURES    OF   THE 

What  arms  ?  or  who  shall  wield  them  ?    Ye  beheld 

The  Athenian  people.     Many  bitter  days 

Must  pass,  and  many  wounds  from  cruel  pride    aio 

Be  felt,  ere  yet  their  partial  hearts  find  room 

For  just  resentment,  or  their  hands  endure 

To  smite  this  tyrant  brood,  so  near  to  all 

Their  hopes,  so  oft  admir'd,  so  long  belov'd. 

That  time  will  come,  however.     Be  it  yours 

To  watch  its  fair  approach,  and  urge  it  on 

With  honest  prudence :  me  it  ill  beseems 

Again  to  supplicate^  the  unwilling  crowd 

To  rescue  from  a  vile  deceiver's  hold 

That  envied  power  which  once  with  eager  zeal  sao 

They  offered  to  myself;  nor  can  I  plunge 

In  counsels  deep  and  various,  nor  prepare 

For  distant  wars,  thus  faltering  as  I  tread 

On  life's  last  verge,  ere  long  to  join  the  shades 

Of  Minos  and  Lycurgus.     But  behold 

What  care  employs  me  now.     My  vows  I  pay 

To  the  sweet  Muses,  teachers  of  my  youth 

And  solace  of  my  age.     If  right  I  deem 

Of  the  still  voice  that  whispers  at  my  heart, 

The  immortal  sisters  have  not  quite  withdrawn  aso 

Their  old  harmonious  influence.     Let  your  tongues 

With  sacred  silence  favour  what  I  speak, 

And  haply  shall  my  faithful  lips  be  taught 

To  unfold  celestial  counsels,  which  may  arm 

As  with  impenetrable  steel  your  breasts 

For  the  long  strife  before  you,  and  repel 

The  darts  of  adverse  fate."    He  said,  and  snatch'd 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  263 

The  laurel  bough,  and  sate  in  silence  down, 
Fix'd,  wrapp'd  in  solemn  musing,  full  before 
The  sun,  who  now  from  all  his  radiant  orb  •       340 
Drove  the  gray  clouds,  and  pour'd  his  genial  light 
Upon  the  breast  of  Solon.     Solon  rais'd 
Aloft  the  leafy  rod,  and  thus  began : 

"  Ye  beauteous  offspring  of  Olympian  Jove 
And  Memory  divine,  Pierian  maids, 
Hear  me,  propitious.     In  the  morn  of  life, 
When  hope  shone  bright  and  all  the  prospect  smil'd, 
To  your  sequester'd  mansion  oft  my  steps 
Were  turn'd,  0  Muses,  and  within  your  gate 
My  offerings  paid.    Ye  taught  me  then  with  strains 
Of  flowing  harmony  to  soften  war's  351 

Dire  voice,  or  in  fair  colours,  that  might  charm 
The  public  eye,  to  clothe  the  form  austere 
Of  civil  counsel.     Now  my  feeble  age 
Neglected,  and  supplanted  of  the  hope 
On  which  it  lean'd,  yet  sinks  not,  but  to  you, 
To  your  mild  wisdom  flies,  refuge  belov'd 
Of  solitude  and  silence.     Ye  can  teach 
The  visions  of  my  bed  whate'er  the  gods 
In  the  rude  ages  of  the  world  inspir'd,  aeo 

Or  the  first  heroes  acted ;  ye  can  make 
The  morning  light  more  gladsome  to  my  sense 
Than  ever  it  appear'd  to  active  youth 
Pursuing  careless  pleasure ;  ye  can  give 
To  this  long  leisure,  these  unheeded  hours, 
A  labour  as  sublime  as  when  the  sons 
Of  Athens  throng'd  and  speechless  round  me  stood 


264  THE   PLEASURES    OF    THE 

To  hear  pronounc'd  for  all  their  future  deeds 
The  bounds  of  right  and  wrong.     Celestial  powers ! 
I  feel  that  ye  are  near  me :  and  behold  sro 

To  meet  your  energy  divine,  I  bring 
A  high  and  sacred  theme ;  not  less  than  those 
Which  to  the  eternal  custody  of  Fame 
Your  lips  intrusted,  when  of  old  ye  deign'd 
With  Orpheus  or  with  Homer  to  frequent 
The  groves  of  Haemus  or  the  Chian  shore. 

"  Ye  know,  harmonious  maids,  (for  what  of  all 
My  various  life  was  e'er  from  you  estrang'd  ?) 
Oft  hath  my  solitary  song  to  you 
Reveal'd  that  duteous  pride  which  turn'd  my  steps 
To  willing  exile  ;  earnest  to  withdraw  ssi 

From  envy  and  the  disappointed  thirst 
Of  lucre,  lest  the  bold  familiar  strife, 
Which  in  the  eye  of  Athens  they  upheld 
Against  her  legislator,  should  impair 
With  trivial  doubt  the  reverence  of  his  laws. 
To  Egypt,  therefore,  through  the  JEgean  isles, 
My  course  I  steer'd,  and  by  the  banks  of  Nile 
Dwelt  in  Canopus.     Thence  the  hallow'd  domes 
Of  Sai's,  and  the  rites  to  Isis  paid,  390 

I  sought,  and  in  her  temple's  silent  courts, 
Through  many  changing  moons,  attentive  heard 
The  venerable  Sonchis,  while  his  tongue 
At  morn  or  midnight  the  deep  story  told 
Of  her  who  represents  whate'er  has  been, 
Or  is,  or  shall  be ;  whose  mysterious  veil 
No  mortal  hand  hath  ever  yet  remov'd. 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  265 

By  him  exhorted,  southward  to  the  walls 
Of  On  I  pass'd,  the  city  of  the  sun, 
The  ever-youthful  god.     'Twas  there,  amid         «o 
His  priests  and  sages,  who  the  livelong  night 
"Watch  the  dread  movements  of  the  starry  sphere, 
Or  who  in  wondrous  fables  half  disclose 
The  secrets  of  the  elements,  'twas  there 
That  great  Psenophis  taught  my  raptur'd  ears 
The  fame  of  old  Atlantis,  of  her  chiefs, 
And  her  pure  laws,  the  first  which  earth  obey'd. 
Deep  in  my  bosom  sunk  the  noble  tale ; 
And  often,  while  I  listen'd,  did  my  mind 
Foretell  with  what  delight  her  own  free  lyre       *io 
Should  sometime  for  an  Attic  audience  raise 
Anew  that  lofty  scene,  and  from  their  tombs 
Call  forth  those  ancient  demigods  to  speak 
Of  Justice  and  the  hidden  Providence 
That  walks  among  mankind.     But  yet  meantime 
The  mystic  pomp  of  Ammon's  gloomy  sons 
Became  less  pleasing.     With  contempt  I  gaz'd 
On  that  tame  garb  and  those  unvarying  paths 
To  which  the  double  yoke  of  king  and  priest 
Had  cramp'd  the  sullen  race.     At  last,  with  hymns 
Invoking  our  own  Pallas  and  the  gods  421 

Of  cheerful  Greece,  a  glad  farewell  I  gave 
To  Egypt,  and  before  the  southern  wind 
Spread  my  full  sails.    What  climes  I  then  survey'd, 
What  fortunes  I  encounter'd  in  the  realm 
Of  Cro3sus  or  upon  the  Cyprian  shore, 
The  Muse,  who  prompts  my  bosom,  doth  not  now 
& 


266  THE   PLEASURES    OF   THE 

Consent  that  I  reveal.     But  when  at  length 
Ten  times  the  sun  returning  from  the  south 
Had  strew'd  with  flowers  the  verdant  earth,and  fill'd 
The  groves  with  music,  pleas'd  I  then  beheld      usi 
The  term  of  those  long  errors  drawing  nigh. 
*  Nor  yet/  I  said,  '  will  I  sit  down  within 
The  walls  of  Athens,  till  my  feet  have  trod 
The  Cretan  soil,  have  pierc'd  those  reverend  haunts 
Whence  Law  and  Civil  Concord  issued  forth 
As  from  their  ancient  home,  and  still  to  Greece 
Their  wisest,  loftiest  discipline  proclaim.' 
Straight  where  Amnisus,  mart  of  wealthy  ships, 
Appears  beneath  fam'd  Cnossus  and  her  towers, 
Like  the  fair  handmaid  of  a  stately  queen,          441 
I  check'd  my  prow,  and  thence  with  eager  steps 
The  city  of  Minos  enter'd.     O  ye  gods, 
Who  taught  the  leaders  of  the  simpler  time 
By  written  words  to  curb  the  untoward  will 
Of  mortals,  how  within  that  generous  isle 
Have  ye  the  triumphs  of  your  power  display'd 
Munificent !     Those  splendid  merchants,  lords 
Of  traffic  and  the  sea,  with  what  delight 
I  saw  them  at  their  public  meal,  like  sons  «° 

Of  the  same  household,  join  the  plainer  sort 
Whose  wealth  was  only  freedom  !  whence  to  these 
Vile  envy,  and  to  those  fantastic  pride, 
Alike  was  strange ;  but  noble  concord  still 
Cherish'd  the  strength  untam'd,  tlie  rustic  faith, 
Of  their  first  fathers.     Then  the  growing  race, 
How  pleasing  to  behold  them  in  their  schools, 


IMAGINATION.       BOOK    III.  267 

Their  sports,  their  labours,  ever  plae'd  within, 

0  shade  of  Minos !  thy  controlling  eye. 

Here  was  a  docile  band  in  tuneful  tones  40. 

Thy  laws  pronouncing,  or  with  lofty  hymns 

Praising  the  bounteous  gods,  or,  to  preserve 

Their  country's  heroes  from  oblivious  night, 

Resounding  what  the  Muse  inspir'd  of  old ; 

There,  on  the  verge  of  manhood,  others  met, 

In  heavy  armour  through  the  heats  of  noon 

To  march,  the  rugged  mountain's  height  to  climb 

With  measured  swiftness,  from  the  hard-bent  bow 

To  send  resistless  arrows  to  their  mark, 

Or  for  the  fame  of  prowess  to  contend,  470 

Now  wrestling,  now  with  fists  and  staves  oppos'd, 

Now  with  the  biting  falchion,  and  the  fence 

Of  brazen  shields ;  while  still  the  warbling  flute 

Presided  o'er  the  combat,  breathing  strains 

Grave,  solemn,  soft ;  and  changing  headlong  spite 

To  thoughtful  resolution  cool  and  clear. 

Such  I  beheld  those  islanders  renown'd, 

So  tutor'd  from  their  birth  to  meet  in  war 

Each  bold  invader,  and  in  peace  to  guard 

That  living  flame  of  reverence  for  their  laws      4so 

Which  nor  the  storms  of  fortune,  nor  the  flood 

Of  foreign  wealth  diffus'd  o'er  all  the  land, 

Could  quench  or  slacken.     First  of  human  names 

In  every  Cretan's  heart  was  Minos  still ; 

And  holiest  far,  of  what  the  sun  surveys 

Thro'  his  whole  course,  were  those  primeval  seats 

Which  with  religious  footsteps  he  had  taught 


268  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

Their  sires  to  approach ;  the  wild  Dictaean  cave 

Where  Jove  was  born  ;•••  the  ever-verdant  meads 

Of  Ida,  and  the  spacious  grotto,  where  490 

His  active  youth  he  pass'd,  and  where  his  throne 

Yet  stands  mysterious ;  whither  Minos  came 

Each  ninth  returning  year,  the  king  of  gods 

And  mortals  there  in  secret  to  consult 

On  justice,  and  the  tables  of  his  law 

To  inscribe  anew.     Oft  also  with  like  zeal 

Great  Rhea's  mansion  from  the  Cnossian  gates 

Men  visit ;  nor  less  oft  the  antique  fane 

Built  on  that  sacred  spot,  along  the  banks 

Of  shady  Theron,  where  benignant  Jove  «o 

And  his  majestic  consort  join'd  their  hands 

And  spoke  their  nuptial  vows.     Alas !  'twas  there 

That  the  dire  fame  of  Athens  sunk  in  bonds 

I  first  receiv'd  ;  what  time  an  annual  feast 

Had  summon'd  all  the  genial  country  round, 

By  sacrifice  and  pomp  to  bring  to  mind 

That  first  great  spousal;  while  the  enamour'd  youths 

And  virgins,  with  the  priest  before  the  shrine, 

Observe  the  same  pure  ritual,  and  invoke 

The  same  glad  omens.     There,  among  the  crowc 

Of  strangers  from  those  naval  cities  drawn 

Which  deck,  like  gems,  the  island's  northern  shore, 

A  merchant  of  JEgina  I  descried, 

My  ancient  host ;  but,  forward  as  I  sprung 

To  meet  him,  he,  with  dark  dejected  brow, 

Stopp'd  half  averse ;  and, '  0  Athenian  guest/ 

He  said,  '  art  thou  in  Crete ;  these  joyful  rites 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   III.  269 

Partaking  ?     Know  thy  laws  are  blotted  out : 

Thy  country  kneels  before  a  tyrant's  throne/ 

He  added  names  of  men,  with  hostile  deeds        «ao 

Disastrous ;  which  obscure  and  indistinct 

I  heard :  for,  while  he  spake,  my  heart  grew  cold 

And  my  eyes  dim ;  the  altars  and  their  train 

No  more  were  present  to  me  :  how  I  far'd, 

Or  whither  turn'd,  I  know  not ;  nor  recall 

Aught  of  those  moments  other  than  the  sense 

Of  one  who  struggles  in  oppressive  sleep, 

And,  from  the  toils  of  some  distressful  dream 

To  break  away,  with  palpitating  heart, 

Weak  limbs,  and  temples  bath'd  in  death-like  dew, 

Makes  many  a  painful  effort.    When  at  last        &i 

The  sun  and  nature's  face  again  appear'd, 

Not  far  I  found  me ;  where  the  public  path, 

Winding  thro'  cypress  groves  and  swelling  meads, 

From  Cnossus  to  the  cave  of  Jove  ascends. 

Heedless  I  follow'd  on ;  till  soon  the  skirts 

Of  Ida  rose  before  me,  and  the  vault 

Wide  opening  pierc'd  the  mountain's  rocky  side. 

Entering  within  the  threshold,  on  the  ground 

I  flung  me,  sad,  faint,  overworn  with  toil."  «o 


••o 

*  * 


270  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE 

FOURTH  BOOK  OF  THE  PLEASURES  OF  THE 
IMAGINATION.    1770. 

ONE  effort  more,  one  cheerful  sally  more, 
Our  destin'd  course  will  finish ;  and  in  peace 
Then,  for  an  offering  sacred  to  the  powers 
Who  lent  us  gracious  guidance,  we  will  then 
Inscribe  a  monument  of  deathless  praise, 
O  my  adventurous  song !     With  steady  speed 
Long  hast  thou,  on  an  untried  voyage  bound, 
Sail'd  between  earth  and  heaven :  hast  now  sur- 

vey'd, 

Stretch'd  out  beneath  thee,  all  the  mazy  tracts 
Of  Passion  and  Opinion ;  like  a  waste  10 

Of  sands  and  flowery  lawns  and  tangling  woods, 
Where  mortals  roam  bewilder'd :  and  hast  now 
Exulting  soar'd  among  the  worlds  above, 
Or  hover'd  near  the  eternal  gates  of  heaven, 
If  haply  the  discourses  of  the  gods, 
A  curious,  but  an  unpresuming  guest, 
Thou  might'st  partake,  and  carry  back  some  strain 
Of  divine  wisdom,  lawful  to  repeat, 
And  apt  to  be  conceiv'd  of  man  below. 
A  different  task  remains  :  the  secret  paths 
Of  early  genius  to  explore ;  to  trace 
Those  haunts  where  Fancy  her  predestin'd  sons, 


IMAGINATION.      BOQK   IV.  271 

Like  to  the  demigods  of  old,  doth  nurse 

Remote  from  eyes  profane.     Ye  happy  souls 

Who  now  her  tender  discipline  obey, 

Where  dwell  ye  ?     What  wild  river's  brink  at  eve  i 

Imprint  your  steps  ?    What  solemn  groves  at  noon  r 

Use  ye  to  visit,  often  breaking  forth 

In  rapture  'mid  your  dilatory  walk, 

Or  musing,  as  in  slumber,  on  the  green  ?  ao 

—  Would  I  again  were  with  you !  —  O  ye  dales 

Of  Tyne,  and  ye  most  ancient  woodlands ;  where 

Oft  as  the  giant  flood  obliquely  strides, 

And  his  banks  open,  and  his  lawns  extend, 

Stops  short  the  pleased  traveller  to  view, 

Presiding  o'er  the  scene,  some  rustic  tower 

Founded  by  Norman  or  by  Saxon  hands : 

0  ye  Northumbrian  shades,  which  overlook 
The  rocky  pavement  and  the  mossy  falls 

Of  solitary  Wensbeck's  limpid  stream ;  40 

How  gladly  I  recall  your  well-known  seats 
Belov'd  of  old,  and  that  delightful  time 
When  all  alone,  for  many  a  summer's  day, 

1  wander'd  through  your  calm  recesses,  led 
In  silence  by  some  powerful  hand  unseen ! 

Nor  will  I  e'er  forget  you ;  nor  shall  e'er 
The  graver  tasks  of  manhood,  or  the  advice 
Of  vulgar  wisdom,  move  me  to  disclaim 
Those  studies  which  possess'd  me  in  the  dawn 
Of  life,  and  fix'd  the  colour  of  my  mind  so 

For  every  future  year :  whence  even  now 
From  sleep  I  rescue  the  clear  hours  of  morn, 


272  THE    PLEASURES    OF    THE 

And,  while  the  world  around  lies  overwhelm'd 

In  idle  darkness,  am  alive  to  thoughts 

Of  honourable  fame,  of  truth  divine        - 

Or  moral,  and  of  minds  to  virtue  won 

By  the  sweet  magic  of  harmonious  verse ; 

The  themes  which  now  expect  us.     For  thus  far 

On  general  habits,  and  on  arts  which  grow 

Spontaneous  in  the  minds  of  all  mankind,  ec 

Hath  dwelt  our  argument ;  and  how  self-taught, 

Though  seldom  conscious  of  their  own  employ, 

In  Nature's  or  in  Fortune's  changeful  scene 

Men  learn  to  judge  of  Beauty,  and  acquire 

Those  forms  set  up,  as  idols  in  the  soul 

For  love  and  zealous  praise.     Yet  indistinct, 

In  vulgar  bosoms,  and  unnotic'd,  lie 

These  pleasing  stores,  unless  the  casual  force 

Of  things  external  prompt  the  heedless  mind 

To  recognize  her  wealth.     But  some  there  are    ro 

Conscious  of  Nature,  and  the  rule  which  man 

O'er  Nature  holds :  some  who,  within  themselves 

Retiring  from  the  trivial  scenes  of  chance 

And  momentary  passion,  can  at  will 

Call  up  these  fair  exemplars  of  the  mind ; 

Review  their  features  ;  scan  the  secret  laws 

Which  bind  them  to  each  other ;  and  display 

By  forms  or  sounds  or  colours,  to  the  sense 

Of  all  the  world  their  latent  charms  display : 

Even  as  in  Nature's  frame  (if  such  a  word, 

If  such  a  word,  so  bold,  may  from  the  lips 

Of  man  proceed),  as  in  this  outward  frame 


IMAGINATION.      BOOK   IV.  273 

Of  things,  the  great  Artificer  portrays 
His  own  immense  idea.     Various  names 
These  among  mortals  bear,  as  various  signs 
They  use,  and  by  peculiar  organs  speak 
To  human  sense.     There  are  who  by  the  flight 
Of  air  through  tubes  with  moving  stops  distinct, 
Or  by  extended  chords  in  measure  taught 
To  vibrate,  can  assemble  powerful  sounds  so 

Expressing  every  temper  of  the  mind 
From  every  cause,  and  charming  all  the  soul 
With  passion  void  of  care.     Others  meantime 
The  rugged  mass  of  metal,  wood,  or  stone, 
Patiently  taming ;  or  with  easier  hand 
Describing  lines,  and  with  more  ample  scope 
Uniting  colours,  —  can  to  general  sight 
Produce  those  permanent  and  perfect  forms, 
Those  characters  of  heroes' and  of  gods, 
Which  from  the  crude  materials  of  the  world,     106 
Their  own  high  minds  created.     But  the  chief 
Are  poets ;  eloquent  men,  who  dwell  on  earth 
To  clothe  whate'er  the  soul  admires  or  loves 
With  language  and  with  numbers.    Hence  to  these 
A  field  is  open'd  wide  as  Nature's  sphere ; 
Nay,  wider :  various  as  the  sudden  acts 
Of  human  wit,  and  vast  as  the  demands 
Of  human  will.     The  bard  nor  length  nor  depth, 
Nor  place  nor  form  controls.     To  eyes,  to  ears, 
To  every  organ  of  the  copious  mind,  110 

He  offereth  all  its  treasures.     Him  the  hours, 
The  seasons  him  obey ;  and  changeful  Time 


274         PLEASURES    OF    THE    IMAGINATION. 

Sees  him  at  will  keep  measure  with  his  flight, 

At  will  outstrip  it.     To  enhance  his  toil, 

He  summoneth  from  the  uttermost  extent 

Of  things  which  God  hath  taught  him,  every  form 

Auxiliar,  every  power ;  and  all  beside 

Excludes  imperious.     His  prevailing  hand 

Gives  to  corporeal  essence  life  and  sense, 

And  every  stately  function  of  the  soul.  120 

The  soul  itself  to  him  obsequious  lies, 

Like  matter's  passive  heap ;  and  as  he  wills 

To  reason  and  affection  he  assigns 

Their  just  alliances,  their  just  degrees: 

Whence  his  peculiar  honours ;  whence  the  race 

Of  men  who  people  his  delightful  world, 

Men  genuine  and  according  to  themselves, 

Transcend  as  far  the  uncertain  sons  of  earth, 

As  earth  itself  to  his  delightful  world, 

The  palm  of  spotless  Beauty  doth  resign.  uo 


275 
ODES  ON  SEVERAL  SUBJECTS. 

IN  TWO  BOOKS. 

BOOK    I.  — ODE    L1 

PREFACE. 
L 

ON  yonder  verdant  hillock  laid, 
Where  oaks  and  elms,  a  friendly  shade, 

O'erlook  the  falling  stream, 
O  master  of  the  Latin  lyre, 
Awhile  with  thee  will  I  retire 

From  summer's  noontide  beam. 

II. 

And  lo,  within  my  lonely  bower, 
The  industrious  bee  from  many  a  flower 

Collects  her  balmy  dews  : 
"  For  me,"  she  sings,  "  the  gems  are  born, 
•  For  me  their  silken  robe  adorn, 

Their  fragant  breath  diffuse." 

III. 

Sweet  murmurer !  may  no  rude  storm 
This  hospitable  scene  deform, 

Nor  check  thy  gladsome  toils  ; 
Still  may  the  buds  unsullied  spring, 
Still  showers  and  sunshine  court  thy  wing 

To  these  ambrosial  spoils. 


276  ODES. 

IV. 

Nor  shall  my  Muse  hereafter  fail 
Her  fellow-labourer  thee  to  hail ; 

And  lucky  be  the  strains  ! 
For  long  ago  did  Nature  frame 
Your  seasons  and  your  arts  the  same, 

Your  pleasures  and  your  pains. 

V. 

Like  thee,  in  lowly,  sylvan  scenes, 
On  river  banks  and  flowery  greens, 

My  Muse  delighted  plays ; 
Nor  through  the  desert  of  the  air, 
Though  swans  or  eagles  triumph  there, 

With  fond  ambition  strays. 

VI. 

Nor  where  the  boding  raven  chaunts, 
Nor  near  the  owl's  unhallow'd  haunts, 

Will  she  her  cares  employ ; 
But  flies  from  ruins  and  from  tombs, 
From  Superstition's  horrid  glooms, 

To  daylight  and  to  joy. 

vn. 

Nor  will  she  tempt  the  barren  waste ; 
Nor  deigns  the  lurking  strength  to  taste 

Of  any  noxious  thing ; 
But  leaves  with  scorn  to  Envy's  use 
The  insipid  nightshade's  baneful  juice, 

The  nettle's  sordid  sting. 


BOOK  i.  277 


VIIL 

From  all  which  Nature  fairest  knows, 
The  vernal  blooms,  the  summer  rose, 

She  draws  her  blameless  wealth ; 
And  when  the  generous  task  is  done, 
She  consecrates  a  double  boon 

To  Pleasure  and  to  Health. 


ODE    II.2 

ON  THE  WINTER  SOLSTICE.     1740. 
I. 

THE  radiant  ruler  of  the  year 
At  length  his  wintry  goal  attains ; 
Soon  to  reverse  the  long  career, 
And  northward  bend  his  steady  reins. 
Now,  piercing  half  Potosi's  height, 
Prone  rush  the  fiery  floods  of  light, 
Ripening  the  mountain's  silver  stores : 
"While,  in  some  cavern's  horrid  shade, 
The  panting  Indian  hides  his  head, 
And  oft  the  approach  of  eve  implores. 

n. 

But  lo,  on  this  deserted  coast 
How  pale  the  sun !  how  thick  the  air! 
Mustering  his  storms,  a  sordid  host, 
Lo,  Winter  desolates  the  year. 
The  fields  resign  their  latest  bloom ; 
No  more  the  breezes  waft  perfume, 


278  ODES. 

No  more  the  streams  in  music  roll : 
But  snows  fall  dark,  or  rains  resound ; 
And,  while  great  Nature  mourns  around, 
Her  griefs  infect  the  human  soul. 

III. 

Hence  the  loud  city's  busy  throngs 
Urge  the  warm  bowl  and  splendid  fire : 
Harmonious  dances,  festive  songs, 
Against  the  spiteful  heaven  conspire. 
Meantime,  perhaps,  with  tender  fears, 
Some  village  dame  the  curfew  hears, 
While  round  the  hearth  her  children  play : 
At  morn  their  father  went  abroad ; 
The  moon  is  sunk,  and  deep  the  road ; 
She  sighs,  and  wonders  at  his  stay. 

IV. 

But  thou,  my  lyre,  awake,  arise, 
And  hail  the  sun's  returning  force  : 
Even  now  he  climbs  the  northern  skies, 
And  health  and  hope  attend  his  course. 
Then  louder  howl  the  aerial  waste, 
Be  earth  with  keener  cold  embrac'd, 
Yet  gentle  hours  advance  their  wing ; 
And  Fancy,  mocking  Winter's  might, 
With  flowers  and  dews  and  streaming  light 
Already  decks  the  new-born  spring. 

V. 

O  fountain  of  the  golden  day, 
Could  mortal  vows  promote  thy  speed, 


BOOK  i.  279 

How  soon  before  thy  vernal  ray 
Should  each  unkindly  damp  recede ! 
How  soon  each  hovering  tempest  fly, 
Whose  stores  for  mischief  arm  the  sky, 
Prompt  on  our  heads  to  burst  amain, 
To  rend  the  forest  from  the  steep, 
Or,  thundering  o'er  the  Baltic  deep, 
To  whelm  the  merchant's  hopes  of  gain  I 

VI. 

But  let  not  man's  unequal  views 
Presume  o'er  Nature  and  her  laws : 
'Tis  his  with  grateful  joy  to  use 
The  indulgence  of  the  Sovereign  Cause ; 
Secure  that  health  and  beauty  springs 
Through  this  majestic  frame  of  things, 
Beyond  what  he  can  reach  to  know ; 
And  that  Heaven's  all-subduing  will, 
With  good,  the  progeny  of  ill, 
Attempereth  every  state  below. 

VH. 

How  pleasing  wears  the  wintry  night, 
Spent  with  the  old  illustrious  dead ! 
While,  by  the  taper's  trembling  light, 
I  seem  those  awful  scenes  to  tread 
Where  chiefs  or  legislators  lie, 
Whose  triumphs  move  before  my  eye 
In  arms  and  antique  pomp  array'd ; 
While  now  I  taste  the  Ionian  song, 
Now  bend  to  Plato's  godlike  tongue 
Resounding  through  the  olive  shade. 


280  ODES. 

VIII. 

But  should  some  cheerful,  equal  friend 
Bid  leave  the  studious  page  awhile, 
Let  mirth  on  wisdom  then  attend, 
And  social  ease  on  learned  toil. 
Then  while,  at  love's  uncareful  shrine, 
Each  dictates  to  the  god  of  wine 
Her  name  whom  all  his  hopes  obey, 
"What  flattering  dreams  each  bosom  warm, 
"While  absence,  heightening  every  charm, 
Invokes  the  slow-returning  May ! 

IX. 

May,  thou  delight  of  heaven  and  earth, 
When  will  thy  genial  star  arise  ? 
The  auspicious  morn,  which  gives  thee  birth, 
Shall  bring  Eudora  to  my  eyes. 
Within  her  sylvan  haunt  behold, 
As  in  the  happy  garden  old, 
She  moves  like  that  primeval  fair : 
Thither,  ye  silver-sounding  lyres, 
Ye  tender  smiles,  ye  chaste  desires, 
Fond  hope  and  mutual  faith,  repair. 

X. 

And  if  believing  love  can  read 

His  better  omens  in  her  eye, 

Then  shall  my  fears,  O  charming  maid, 

And  every  pain  of  absence  die : 

Then  shall  my  jocund  harp,  attun'd 

To  thy  true  ear,  with  sweeter  sound 


BOOK   I.  281 


Pursue  the  free  Horatian  song ; 
Old  Tyne  shall  listen  to  my  tale, 
And  Echo,  down  the  bordering  vale, 
The  liquid  melody  prolong. 


FOB  THE  WINTER  SOLSTICE,  DECEMBER  11,  1740. 
AS  ORIGINALLY  WRITTEN. 

Now  to  the  utmost  southern  goal 
The  sun  has  trac'd  his  annual  way, 
And  backward  now  prepares  to  roll, 
And  bless  the  north  with  earlier  day. 
Prone  on  Potosi's  lofty  brow 
Floods  of  sublimer  splendour  flow, 
Ripening  the  latent  seeds  of  gold ; 
Whilst,  panting  in  the  lonely  shade, 
Th'  afflicted  Indian  hides  his  head, 
Nor  dares  the  blaze  of  noon  behold. 

But  lo !  on  this  deserted  coast 
How  faint  the  light,  how  chill  the  air ! 
Lo !  arm'd  with  whirlwind,  hail,  and  frost, 
Fierce  Winter  desolates  the  year. 
The  fields  resign  their  cheerful  bloom^ 
No  more  the  breezes  breathe  perfume, 
No  mo-re  the  warbling  waters  roll ; 
Deserts  of  snow  fatigue  the  eye, 
Successive  tempests  bloat  the  sky, 
And  gloomy  damps  oppress  the  soul. 


282  ODES. 

But  let  my  drooping  genius  rise, 
And  hail  the  sun's  remotest  ray  : 
Now,  now  he  climbs  the  northern  skies, 
To-morrow  nearer  than  to-day. 
Then  louder  howl  the  stormy  waste, 
Be  land  and  ocean  worse  defac'd, 
Yet  brighter  hours  are  on  the  wing, 
And  Fancy,  through  the  wintry  gloom, 
Radiant  with  dews,  and  flowers  in  bloom, 
Already  hails  th'  emerging  spring. 

0  fountain  of  the  golden  day ! 
Could  mortal  vows  but  urge  thy  speed, 
How  soon  before  thy  vernal  ray 
Should  each  unkindly  damp  recede ! 
How  soon  each  tempest  hovering  fly, 
That  now  fermenting  loads  the  sky, 
Prompt  on  our  heads  to  burst  amain, 
To  rend  the  forest  from  the  steep, 
And,  thundering  o'er  the  Baltic  deep, 
To  whelm  the  merchant's  hopes  of  gain ! 

But  let  not  man's  imperfect  views 
Presume  to  tax  wise  Nature's  laws : 
'Tis  his  with  silent  joy  to  use 
Th'  indulgence  of  the  Sovereign  Cause ; 
Secure  that  from  the  whole  of  things 
Beauty  and  good  consummate  springs, 
Beyond  what  he  can  reach  to  know, 
And  that  the  providence  of  Heaven 


BOOK   L  283 

Has  some  peculiar  blessing  given 
To  each  allotted  state  below. 

Even  now  how  sweet  the  wintry  night       0 
Spent  with  the  old  illustrious*dead ! 
While,  by  the  taper's  trembling  light, 
I  seem  those  awful  courts  to  tread, 
Where  chiefs  and  legislators  lie, 
Whose  triumphs  move  before  my  eye, 
With  every  laurel  fresh  display'd ; 
While  charm'd  I  rove  in  classic  song, 
Or  bend  to  freedom's  fearless  tongue, 
Or  walk  the  academic  shade. 


ODE    III.3 

TO    A   FRIEND    UNSUCCESSFUL    IN   LOVE. 
I. 

INDEED,  my  Phsedria,  if  to  find 
That  wealth  can  female  wishes  gain, 
Had  e'er  disturb'd  your  thoughtful  mind, 
Or  caus'd  one  serious  moment's  pain, 
I  should  have  said  that  all  the  rules 
You  learn'd  of  moralists  and  schools 
Were  very  useless,  very  vain. 

II. 

Yet  I  perhaps  mistake  the  case  — 
Say,  though  with  this  heroic  air, 
Like  one  that  holds  a  nobler  chase, 
You  try  the  tender  loss  to  bear, 


284:  ODES. 

Does  not  your  heart  renounce  your  tongue  ? 
Seems  not  my  censure  strangely  wrong 
To  count  it  such  a  slight  affair  ? 

•  TIL 

When  Hesper  gilds  the  shaded  sky, 
Oft  as  you  seek  the  well-known  grove, 
Methinks  I  see  you  cast  your  eye 
Back  to  the  morning  scenes  of  love : 
Each  pleasing  word  you  heard  her  say, 
Her  gentle  look,  her  graceful  way, 
Again  your  struggling  fancy  move. 

IV. 

Then  tell  me,  is  your  soul  entire  ? 
Does  Wisdom  calmly  hold  her  throne  ? 
Then  can  you  question  each  desire, 
Bid  this  remain,  and  that  be  gone  ? 
No  tear  half-starting  from  your  eye  ? 
No  kindling  blush  you  know  not  why  ? 
No  stealing  sigh,  nor  stifled  groan  ? 

V. 

Away  with  this  unmanly  mood  ! 
See  where  the  hoary  churl  appears, 
Whose  hand  hath  seiz'd  the  favourite  good 
Which  you  reserv'd  for  happier  years  ; 
While,  side  by  side,  the  blushing  maid 
Shrinks  from  his  visage,  half  afraid, 
Spite  of  the  sickly  joy  she  wears. 

VI. 

Ye  guardian  powers  of  love  and  fame, 
This  chaste,  harmonious  pair  behold ; 


BOOK  i.  285 

And  thus  reward  the  generous  flame 
Of  all  who  barter  vows  for  gold. 
O  bloom  of  youth !  O  tender  charms 
Well-buried  in  a  dotard's  arms ! 
O  equal  price  of  beauty  sold ! 

VII. 

Cease  then  to  gaze  with  looks  of  love ; 
Bid  her  adieu,  the  venal  fair : 
Unworthy  she  your  bliss  to  prove ; 
Then  wherefore  should  she  prove  your  care  ? 
No :  lay  your  myrtle  garland  down ; 
And  let  awhile  the  willow's  crown 
With  luckier  omens  bind  your  hair. 

VIIL 

O  just  escap'd  the  faithless  main, 
Though  driven  unwilling  on  the  land, 
To  guide  your  favour'd  steps  again, 
Behold  your  better  Genius  stand : 
Where  Truth  revolves  her  page  divine, 
Where  Virtue  leads  to  Honour's  shrine, 
Behold,  he  lifts  his  awful  hand. 

IX. 

Fix  but  on  these  your  ruling  aim, 
And  Time,  the  sire  of  manly  care, 
Will  fancy's  dazzling  colours  tame ; 
A  soberer  dress  will  beauty  wear : 
Then  shall  esteem,  by  knowledge  led, 
Inthrone  within  your  heart  and  head  4 

Some  happier  love,  some  truer  fair. 


286  ODES. 

ODE   IV. 

AFFECTED    INDIFFERENCE.      TO    THE    SAME. 
I. 

YES  :  you  contemn  the  perjur'd  maid 
Who  all  your  favourite  hopes  betray'd ; 
Nor,  though  her  heart  should  home  return, 
Her  tuneful  tongue  its  falsehood  mourn, 

.     Her  winning  eyes  your  faith  implore, 
Would  you  her  hand  receive  again, 
Or  once  dissemble  your  disdain, 
Or  listen  to  the  siren's  theme, 
Or  stoop  to  love ;  since  now  esteem, 

And  confidence,  and  friendship,  is  no  more. 


n. 

Yet  tell  me,  Phsedria,  tell  me  why, 
When  summoning  your  pride  you  try 
To  meet  her  looks  with  cool  neglect, 
Or  cross  her  walk  with  slight  respect, 
(For  so  is  falsehood  best  repaid) 
Whence  do  your  cheeks  indignant  glow? 
Why  is  your  struggling  tongue  so  slow  ? 
What  means  that  darkness  on  your  brow  ? 
As  if  with  all  her  broken  vow 

meant  the  fair  apostate  to  upbraid  ? 


BOOK  i.  287 

ODE  V.4 

AGAINST    SUSPICION. 
I. 

OH  fly !  'tis  dire  Suspicion's  mien ; 
And,  meditating  plagues  unseen, 

The  sorceress  hither  bends  : 
Behold  her  torch  in  gall  imbrued ; 
Behold  —  her  garment  drops  with  blood 

Of  lovers  and  of  friends. 

II. 

Fly  far !     Already  in  your  eyes 
I  see  a  pale  suffusion  rise ; 

And  soon  through  every  vein, 
Soon  will  her  secret  venom  spread, 
And  all  your  heart  and  all  your  head 

Imbibe  the  potent  stain. 

III. 

Then  many  a  demon  will  she  raise 
To  vex  your  sleep,  to  haunt  your  ways; 

While  gleams  of  lost  delight 
Raise  the  dark  tempest  of  the  brain, 
As  lightning  shines  across  the  main 

Through  whirlwinds  and  through  night. 

IV. 

No  more  can  faith  or  candour  move ; 
But  each  ingenuous  deed  of  love, 
Which  reason  would  applaud, 


88  ODES. 

Now,  smiling  o'er  her  dark  distress, 
Fancy  malignant  strives  to  dress 
Like  injury  and  fraud.     • 

V. 

Farewell  to  virtue's  peaceful  times : 
Soon  will  you  stoop  to  act  the  crimes 

Which  thus  you  stoop  to  fear : 
Guilt  follows  guilt ;  and  where  the  train 
Begins  with  wrongs  of  such  a  stain, 
.   What  horrors  form  the  rear ! 

VI. 

'Tis  thus  to  work  her  baleful  power, 
Suspicion  waits  the  sullen  hour 

Of  fretfulness  and  strife, 
When  care  the  infirmer  bosom  wrings, 
Or  Eurus  waves  his  murky  wings 

To  damp  the  seats  of  life. 

VII. 

But  come,  forsake  the  scene  unbless'd 
Which  first  beheld  your  faithful  breast 

To  groundless  fears  a  prey : 
Come,  where  with  my  prevailing  lyre 
The  skies,  the  streams,  the  groves  conspire 

To  charm  your  doubts  away. 

VIII. 

Thron'd  in  the  sun's  descending  car, 
What  power  unseen  diffuseth  far 

This  tenderness  of  mind? 
What  Genius  smiles  on  yonder  flood  ? 
What  God,  in  whispers  from  the  wood, 

Bids  every  thought  be  kind  ? 


BOOK    I. 
IX. 

0  thou,  whate'er  thy  awful  name, 
Whose  wisdom  our  untoward  frame 

With  social  love  restrains ; 

Thou,  who  by  fair  affection's  ties 

Giv'st  us  to  double  all  our  joys, 

And  half  disarm  our  pains ; 

X. 

*  If  far  from  Dyson  and  from  me 
Suspicion  took,  by  thy  decree, 

Her  everlasting  flight ; 
If  firm  on  virtue's  ample  base 
Thy  parent  hand  has  deign'd  to  raise 
Our  friendship's  honour'd  height ; 

XI. 

Let  universal  candour  still, 
Clear  as  yon  heaven-reflecting  rill, 

Preserve  my  open  mind ; 
Nor  this  nor  that  man's  crooked  ways 
One  sordid  doubt  within  me  raise 
To  injure  human  kind. 


ODE   VI.6 

HYMN   TO    CHEERFULNESS. 

How  thick  the  shades  of  evening  close  ! 
How  pale  the  sky  with  weight  of  snows ! 

*  This  stanza  was  found  in  a  copy  presented  by  Akenside 
to  a  friend.  —  Amer.  ed.,  1808. 


290  ODES. 

Haste,  light  the  tapers,  urge  the  fire, 
And  bid  the  joyless  day  retire. 

Alas  !  in  vain  I  try  within 

To  brighten  the  dejected  scene, 
While  rous'd  by  grief  these  fiery  pains 
Tear  the  frail  texture  of  my  veins  ; 
While  Winter's  voice,  that  storms  around, 
And  yon  deep  death-bell's  groaning  sound 
Renew  my  mind's  oppressive  gloom, 
Till  starting  Horror  shakes  the  room. 

Is  there  in  nature  no  kind  power 
To  soothe  affliction's  lonely  hour  ? 
To  blunt  the  edge  of  dire  disease, 
And  teach  these  wintry  shades  to  please  ? 
Come,  Cheerfulness,  triumphant  fair, 
Shine  through  the  hovering  cloud  of  care : 
O  sweet  of  language,  mild  of  mien, 
O  Virtue's  friend  and  Pleasure's  queen, 
Assuage  the  flames  that  burn  my  breast, 
Compose  my  jarring  thoughts  to  rest ; 
And  while  thy  gracious  gifts  I  feel, 
My  song  shall  all  thy  praise  reveal. 

As  once  ('twas  in  Astraea's  reign) 
The  vernal  powers  renew'd  their  train, 
It  happen'd  that  immortal  Love 
Was  ranging  through  the  spheres  above, 
And  downward  hither  cast  his  eye 
The  year's  returning  pomp  to  spy. 
He  saw  the  radiant  god  of  day 
Waft  in  his  car  the  rosy  May ; 


BOOK    I.  291 

The  fragrant  Airs  and  genial  Hours 
Were  shedding  round  him  dews  and  flowers ; 
Before  his  wheels  Aurora  pass'd, 
And  Hesper's  golden  lamp  was  last. 
But,  fairest  of  the  blooming  throng, 
When  Health  majestic  mov'd  along, 
Delighted  to  survey  below 
The  joys  which  from  her  presence  flow, 
While  earth  enliven'd  hears  her  voice, 
And  swains  and  flocks  and  fields  rejoice ; 
Then  mighty  Love  her  charms  confess'd, 
And  soon  his  vows  inclin'd  her  breast, 
And,  known  from  that  auspicious  morn, 
The  pleasing  Cheerfulness  was  born. 

Thou,  Cheerfulness,  by  heaven  design'd 
To  sway  the  movements  of  the  mind, 
Whatever  fretful  passion  springs, 
Whatever  wayward  fortune  brings 
To  disarrange  the  power  within, 
And  strain  the  musical  machine  ; 
Thou  Goddess,  thy  attempering  hand 
Doth  each  discordant  string  command, 
Refines  the  soft,  and  swells  the  strong ; 
And,  joining  Nature's  general  song, 
Through  many  a  varying  tone  unfolds 
The  harmony  of  human  souls. 

Fair  guardian  of  domestic  life, 
Kind  banisher  of  homebred  strife, 
Nor  sullen  lip  nor  taunting  eye 
Deforms  the  scene  where  thou  art  by : 


292  ODES. 

No  sickening  husband  damns  the  hour 
Which  bound  his  joys  to  female  power; 
No  pining  mother  weeps  the  cares 
Which  parents  waste  on  thankless  heirs : 
The  officious  daughters  pleas'd  attend; 
The  brother  adds  the  name  of  friend : 
By  thee  with  flowers  their  board  is  crown'd, 
With  songs  from  thee  their  walks  resound ; 
And  morn  with  welcome  lustre  shines, 
And  evening  unperceiv'd  declines. 

Is  there  a  youth,  whose  anxious  heart 
Labours  with  love's  unpitied  smart  ? 
Though  now  he  stray  by  rills  and  bowers, 
And  weeping  waste  the  lonely  hours, 
Or  if  the  nymph  her  audience  deign, 
Debase  the  story  of  his  pain 
With  slavish  looks,  discolour'd  eyes, 
And"accents  faltering  into  sighs  ; 
Yet  thou,  auspicious  power,  with  ease 
Canst  yield  him  happier  arts  to  please, 
Inform  his  mien  with  manlier  charms, 
Instruct  his  tongue  with  nobler  arms, 
With  more  commanding  passion  move, 
And  teach  the  dignity  of  love. 

Friend  to  the  Muse  and  all  her  train, 
For  thee  I  court  the  Muse  again : 
The  Muse  for  thee  may  well  exert 
Her  pomp,  her  charms,  her  fondest  art, 
Who  owes  to  thee  that  pleasing  sway 
Which  earth  and  peopled  heaven  obey. 


BOOK  i.  293 

Let  Melancholy's  plaintive  tongue 
Repeat  what  later  bards  have  sung  ; 
But  thine  was  Homer's  ancient  might, 
And  thine  victorious  Pindar's  flight : 
Thy  hand  each  Lesbian  wreath  attir'd : 
Thy  lip  Sicilian  reeds  inspir'd : 
Thy  spirit  lent  the  glad  perfume 
Whence  yet  the  flowers  of  Teos  bloom ; 
Whence  yet  from  Tibur's  Sabine  vale 
Delicious  blows  the  enlivening  gale, 
While  Horace  calls  thy  sportive  choir, 
Heroes  and  nymphs,  around  his  lyre. 
But  see  where  yonder  pensive  sage 
(A  prey  perhaps  to  fortune's  rage, 
Perhaps  by  tender  griefs  oppress'd, 
Or  glooms  congenial  to  his  breast) 
Retires  in  desert  scenes  to  dwell, 
And  bids  the  joyless  world  farewell. 
Alone  he  treads  the  autumnal  shade, 
Alone  beneath  the  mountain  laid 
He  sees  the  nightly  damps  ascend, 
And  gathering  storms  aloft  impend ; 
He  hears  the  neighbouring  surges  roll, 
And  raging  thunders  shake  the  pole : 
Then,  struck  by  every  object  round, 
And  stunn'd  by  every  horrid  sound, 
He  asks  a  clue  for  Nature's  ways ; 
But  evil  haunts  him  through  the  maze : 
He  sees  ten  thousand  demons  rise 
To  wield  the  empire  of  the  skies, 


294  ODES. 

And  Chance  and  Fate  assume  the  rod, 
And  Malice  blot  the  throne  of  God. 
—  0  thou,  whose  pleasing  power  I  sing, 
Thy  lenient  influence  hither  bring ; 
Compose  the  storm,  dispel  the  gloom. 
Till  Nature  wear  her  wonted  bloom, 
Till  fields  and  shades  their  sweets  exhale, 
And  music  swell  each  opening  gale  : 
Then  o'er  his  breast  thy  softness  pour, 
And  let  him  learn  the  timely  hour 
To  trace  the  world's  benignant  laws, 
And  judge  of  that  presiding  cause 
Who  founds  on  discord  beauty's  reign, 
Converts  to  pleasure  every  pain, 
Subdues  each  hostile  form  to  rest, 
And  bids  the  universe  be  bless'd. 

O  thou,  whose  pleasing  power  I  sing, 
If  right  I  touch  the  votive  string, 
If  equal  praise  I  yield  thy  name, 
Still  govern  thou  thy  poet's  flame ; 
Still  with  the  Muse  my  bosom  share, 
And  soothe  to  peace  intruding  care. 
But  most  exert  thy  pleasing  power 
On  friendship's  consecrated  hour ; 
And  while  my  Sophron  points  the  road 
To  godlike  wisdom's  calm  abode, 
Or  warm  in  freedom's  ancient  cause 
Traceth  the  source  of  Albion's  laws, 
Add  thou  o'er  all  the  generous  toil 
The  light  of  thy  unclouded  smile. 


BOOK  i.  295 

But  if,  by  fortune's  stubborn  sway 

From  him  and  friendship  torn  away, 

I  court  the  Muse's  healing  spell 

For  griefs  that  still  with  absence  dwell, 

Do  thou  conduct  my  fancy's  dreams 

To  such  indulgent  placid  themes, 

As  just  the  struggling  breast  may  cheer, 

And  just  suspend  the  starting  tear, 

Yet  leave  that  sacred  sense  of  woe 

Which  none  but  friends  and  lovers  know. 


ODE   VII. 

ON   THE    USE    OF   POETRY. 
I. 

TOT  for  themselves  did  human  kind 
Contrive  the  parts  by  Heaven  assign'd 
On  life's  wide  scene  to  play  : 
lot  Scipio's  force  nor  Caesar's  skill 
Can  conquer  Glory's  arduous  hill, 
If  Fortune  close  the  way. 

II. 

Yet  still  the  self-depending  soul, 
Though  last  and  least  in  Fortune's  roll, 
His  proper  sphere  commands ; 
id  knows  what  Nature's  seal  bestow'd, 

sees,  before  the  throne  of  God, 
The  rank  in  which  he  stands. 


296  ODES. 

m. 

Who  train'd  by  laws  the  future  age, 
Who  rescu'd  nations  from  the  rage 

Of  partial,  factious  power, 
My  heart  with  distant  homage  views ; 
Content  if  thon,  celestial  Muse, 

Didst  rule  my  natal  hour. 

IV. 

Not  far  beneath  the  hero's  feet, 
Nor  from  the  legislator's  seat 

Stands  far  remote  the  bard. 
Though  not  with  public  terrors  crown'd, 
Yet  wider  shall  his  rule  be  found, 

More  lasting  his  award. 

V. 

Lycurgus  fashion'd  Sparta's  fame, 
And  Pompey  to  the  Roman  name 

Gave  universal  sway : 

Where  are  they  ?  —  Homer's  reverend  page 
Holds  empire  to  the  thirtieth  age, 

And  tongues  and  climes  obey. 

VI. 

And  thus  when  William's  acts  divine 
No  longer  shall  from  Bourbon's  line 

Draw  one  vindictive  vow  ; 
When  Sidney  shall  with  Cato  rest, 
And  Russel  move  the  patriot's  breast 

No  more  than  Brutus  now ; 


BOOK  I.  297 

vn. 

Yet  then  shall  Shakespeare's  powerful  art 
O'er  every  passion,  every  heart, 

Confirm  his  awful  throne  : 
Tyrants  shall  bow  before  his  laws  ; 
And  Freedom's,  Glory's,  Virtue's  cause, 

Their  dread  assertor  own. 


ODE   VIII.6 

ON   LEAVING  HOLLAND. 
I.     1. 

FAREWELL  to  Leyden's  lonely  bound, 
The  Belgian  Muse's  sober  seat ; 
Where  dealing  frugal  gifts  around 
To  all  the  favourites  at  her  feet, 
She  trains  the  body's  bulky  frame 
For  passive,  persevering  toils  ; 
And  lest,  from  any  prouder  aim, 
The  daring  mind  should  scorn  her  homely  spoils, 
She  breathes  maternal  fogs  to  damp  its  restless 
flame. 

I.     2. 

Farewell  the  grave,  pacific  air, 
Where  never  mountain  zephyr  blew : 
The  marshy  levels  lank  and  bare, 
Which  Pan,  which  Ceres  never  knew : 
The  Naiads,  with  obscene  attire, 
Urging  in  vain  their  urns  to  flow  j 
u 


298  ODES. 

While  round  them  chaunt  the  croaking  choir, 
And  haply  soothe  some  lover's  prudent  woe, 
Or  prompt  some  restive  bard  and  modulate  his  lyre. 

I.    3. 

Farewell,  ye  nymphs,  whom  sober  care  of  gain 
Snatch'd  in  your  cradles  from  the  god  of  Love : 
She  render'd  all  his  boasted  arrows  vain ; 
And  all  his  gifts  did  he  in  spite  remove. 
Ye  too,  the  slow-ey'd  fathers  of  the  land, 
With  whom  dominion  steals  from  hand  to  hand, 
Unown'd,  undignified  by  public  choice, 
I  go  where  Liberty  to  all  is  known, 
And  tells  a  monarch  on  his  throne, 
He  reigns  not  but  by  her  preserving  voice. 

II.    i. 

O  my  lov'd  England,  when  with  thee 
Shall  I  sit  down,  to  part  no  more  ? 
Far  from  this  pale,  discolour'd  sea, 
That  sleeps  upon  the  reedy  shore : 
When  shall  I  plough  thy  azure  tide  ? 
When  on  thy  hills  the  flocks  admire, 
Like  mountain  snows ;  till  down  their  side 
I  trace  the  village  and  the  sacred  spire, 
While  bowers  and  copses  green  the  golden  slope 
divide  ? 

H.   2. 

Ye  nymphs  who  guard  the  pathless  grove, 
Ye  blue-ey'd  sisters  of  the  streams, 
With  whom  I  wont  at  morn  to  rove, 
With  whom  at  noon  I  talk'd  in  dreams ; 


BOOK  i.  299 

0  !  take  me  to  your  haunts  again, 

The  rocky  spring,  the  greenwood  glade ; 
To  guide  my  lonely  footsteps  deign, 
To  prompt  my  slumbers  in  the  murmuring  shade, 
And  soothe  my  vacant  ear  with  many  an  airy  strain. 

II.    3. 

And  thou,  my  faithful  harp,  no  longer  mourn 
Thy  drooping  master's  inauspicious  hand  : 
Now  brighter  skies  and  fresher  gales  return, 
Now  fairer  maids  thy  melody  demand. 
Daughters  of  Albion,  listen  to  my  lyre ! 
O  Phoebus,  guardian  of  the  Aonian  choir, 
"Why  sounds  not  mine  harmonious  as  thy  own, 
When  all  the  virgin  deities  above 

With  Venus  and  with  Juno  move 
In  concert  round  the  Olympian  father's  throne  ? 

HI.    1. 

Thee  too,  protectress  of  my  lays, 
Elate  with  whose  majestic  call 
Above  degenerate  Latium's  praise, 
Above  the  slavish  boast  of  Gaul, 

1  dare  from  impious  thrones  reclaim, 
And  wanton  sloth's  ignoble  charms, 
The  honours  of  a  poet's  name 

To  Somers'  counsels,  or  to  Hampden's  arms, 
Thee,  Freedom,  I  rejoin,  and  bless  thy  genuine 
flame, 

m.    2. 

Great  citizen  of  Albion.     Thee 
Heroic  Valor  still  attends, 


300  ODES. 

And  useful  Science  pleas'd  to  see 
How  Art  her  studious  toil  extends : 
While  Truth,  diffusing  from  on  high 
A  lustre  unconfin'd  as  day, 
Fills  and  commands  the  public  eye ; 
Till,  pierc'd  and  sinking  by  her  powerful  ray, 
Tame  Faith  and  monkish  Awe,  like  nightly  demons, 
fly. 

m.  a. 

Hence  the  whole  land  the  patriot's  ardour  shares : 
Hence  dread  Religion  dwells  with  social  Joy ; 
And  holy  passions  and  unsullied  cares, 
In  youth,  in  age,  domestic  life  employ. 
O  fair  Britannia,  hail !  —  With  partial  love 
The  tribes  of  men  their  native  seats  approve, 
Unjust  and  hostile  to  each  foreign  fame ; 
But  when  for  generous  minds  and  manly  laws 

A  nation  holds  her  prime  applause, 
There  public  zeal  shall  all  reproof  disclaim. 


ODE  IX.r 

TO  CURIO.     1744. 
i. 

THRICE  hath  the  Spring  beheld  thy  faded  fame 
Since  I  exulting  grasp'd  the  tuneful  shell: 
Eager  through  endless  years  to  sound  thy  name, 
Proud  that  my  memory  with  thine  should  dwell. 


BOOK   I.  301 

.  How  hast  thou   stain'd  the   splendour  of  my 

choice ! 
Those  godlike  forms  which  hover'd  round  thy 

voice, 

Laws,  freedom,  glory,  whither  are  they  flown  ? 
What  can  I  now  of  thee  to  Time  report, 
Save  thy  fond  country  made  thy  impious  sport, 

Her  fortune  and  her  hope  the  victims  of  thy  own? 

ii. 

There  are  with  eyes  unmov'd  and  reckless  heart 
Who  saw  thee  from  thy  summit  fall  thus  low, 
Who  deem'd  thy  arm  extended  but  to  dart 
The  public  vengeance  on  thy  private  foe. 
But,  spite  of  every  gloss  of  envious  minds, 
The  owl-ey'd  race  whom  virtue's  lustre  blinds, 
Who  sagely  prove  that  each  man  hath  his  price, 
I  still  believ'd  thy  aim  from  blemish  free, 
I  yet,  even  yet,  believe  it,  spite  of  thee 

And  all  thy  painted  pleas  to  greatness  and  to  vice. 

in. 

".Thou  didst  not  dream  of  liberty  decay'd, 
Nor  wish  to  make  her  guardian  laws  more  strong : 
But  the  rash  many,  first  by  thee  misled, 
Bore  thee  at  length  unwillingly  along. " 
Rise  from  your  sad  abodes,  ye  curst  of  old 
For  faith  deserted  or  for  cities  sold, 
Own  here  one  untried,  unexampled  deed ; 
One  mystery  of  shame  from  Curio  learn, 
To  beg  the  infamy  he  did  not  earn,  [meed. 

And  scape  in  Guilt's  disguise  from  Virtue's  offer'd 


302  ODES. 

IV. 

For  saw  we  not  that  dangerous  power  avow'd 
"Whom  Freedom  oft  hath  found  her  mortal  bane, 
Whom  public  Wisdom  ever  strove  to  exclude, 
And  but  with  blushes  suffereth  in  her  train  ? 
Corruption  vaunted  her  bewitching  spoils, 
O'er  court,  o'er  senate,  spread  in  pomp  her  toils, 
And  call'd  herself  the  state's  directing  soul ; 
Till  Curio,  like  a  good  magician,  tried, 
With  Eloquence  and  Reason  at  his  side, 

By  strength  of  holier  spells  the  inchantress  to  con- 
trol. 

v. 

Soon  with  thy  country's  hope  thy  fame  extends ; 
The  rescued  merchant  oft  thy  words  resounds ; 
Thee  and  thy  cause  the  rural  hearth  defends ; 
His  bowl  to  thee  the  grateful  sailor  crowns ; 
The  learn'd  recluse,  with  awful  zeal  who  read 
Of  Grecian  heroes,  Roman  patriots  dead, 
Now  with  like  awe  doth  living  merit  scan  •, 
While  he,  whom  virtue  in  his  blest  retreat 
Bade  social  ease  and  public  passions  meet, 

Ascends  the  civil  scene,  and  knows  to  be  a  man. 

VI. 

At  length  in  view  the  glorious  end  appear'd : 
We  saw  the  spirit  through  the  senate  reign ; 
And  Freedom's  friends  thy  instant  omen  heard 
Of  laws  for  which  their  fathers  bled  in  vain. 
Wak'd  in  the  strife,  the  public  Genius  rose 
More  keen,  more  ardent  from  his  long  repose ; 


BOOK   I.  303 

Deep  through  her  bounds  the  city  felt  his  call ; 
Each  crowded   haunt  was  stirr'd   beneath  his 

power, 

And  murmuring  challeng'd  the  deciding  hour 
Of  that  too  vast  event,  the  hope  and  dread  of  all. 

VII. 

O  ye  good  powers  who  look  on  human  kind, 
Instruct  the  mighty  moments  as  they  roll ; 
And  watch  the  fleeting  shapes  in  Curio's  mind, 
And  steer  his  passions  steady  to  the  goal. 
O  Alfred,  father  of  the  English  name, 
O  valiant  Edward,  first  in  civil  fame, 
O  William,  height  of  public  virtue  pure, 
Bend  from  your  radiant  seats  a  joyful  eye, 
Behold  the  sum  of  all  your  labours  nigh,  [cure. 
Your  plans  of  law  complete,  your  ends  of  rule  se- 

VIII. 

'Twas    then  —  O  shame  !    O  soul    from    faith 

estrang'd ! 

O  Albion  oft  to  flattering  vows  a  prey  ! 
'Twas  then  —  Thy  thought  what  sudden  frenzy 

chang'd  ? 

What  rushing  palsy  took  thy  strength  away  ? 
Is  this  the  man  in  Freedom's  cause  approv'd  ? 
The  man  so  great,  so  honour'd,  so  belov'd  ? 
Whom  the  dead  envied  and  the  living  bless'd  ? 
This  patient  slave  by  tinsel  bonds  allur'd  ? 
This  wretched  suitor  for  a  boon  abjur'd  ? 
Whom  those  that  fear'd  him,  scorn ;  that  trusted 

him,  detest  ? 


804  ODES. 

IX. 

O  lost  alike  to  action  and  repose  ! 

With  all  that  habit  of  familiar  fame, 

Sold  to  the  mockery  of  relentless  foes, 

And  doom'd  to  exhaust  the  dregs  of  life  in  shame, 

To  act  with  burning  brow  and  throbbing  heart 

A  poor  deserter's  dull  exploded  part, 

To  slight  the  favour  thou  canst  hope  no  more, 

Renounce  the  giddy  crowd,  the  vulgar  wind, 

Charge  thy  own  lightness  on  thy  country's  mind, 

And  from  her  voice  appeal  to  each  tame  foreign 
shore. 

x« 

But  England's  sons,  to  purchase  thence  applause, 
Shall  ne'er  the  loyalty  of  slaves  pretend, 
By  courtly  passions  try  the  public  cause, 
Nor  to  the  forms  of  rule  betray  the  end. 
O  race  erect !  by  manliest  passions  mov'd, 
The  labours  which  to  Virtue  stand  approv'd, 
Prompt  with  a  lover's  fondness  to  survey ; 
Yet,  where  Injustice  works  her  wilful  claim, 
Fierce  as  the  flight  of  Jove's  destroying  flamt 

Impatient  to  confront,  and  dreadful  to  repay. 

XI. 

These  thy  heart  owns  no  longer.    In  their  room 
See  the  grave  queen  of  pageants,  Honour,  dwell 
Couch'd  in  thy  bosom's  deep  tempestuous  gloom 
Like  some  grim  idol  in  a  sorcerer's  cell. 
Before  her  rites  thy  sickening  reason  flew, 
Divine  Persuasion  from  thy  tongue  withdrew, 


BOOK   I.  305 

While  Laughter  mock'd,  or  Pity  stole  a  sigh : 
Can  Wit  her  tender  movements  rightly  frame 
Where  the  prime  function  of  the  soul  is  lame  ? 
Can   Fancy's  feeble   springs  the  force  of  Truth 
supply  ? 

XII. 

But  come ;  'tis  time :  strong  Destiny  impends 
To  shut  thee  from  the  joys  thou  hast  betray'd : 
With  princes  fill'd,  the  solemn  fane  ascends, 
By  Infamy,  the  mindful  demon  sway'd. 
There  vengeful  vows  for  guardian  laws  effac'd, 
From  nations  fetter'd,  and  from  towns  laid  waste, 
For  ever  through  the  spacious  courts  resound  : 
There  long  posterity's  united  groan 
And  the  sad  charge  of  horrors  not  their  own, 
Assail  the  giant  chiefs,  and  press  them  to  the 
ground. 

XIII. 

In  sight  old  Time,  imperious  judge,  awaits : 
Above  revenge,  or  fear,  or  pity,  just, 
He  urgeth  onward  to  those  guilty  gates 
The  Great,  the  Sage,  the  Happy,  and  August. 
And  still  he  asks  them  of  the  hidden  plan 
Whence  every  treaty,  every  war  began, 
Evolves  their  secrets  and  their  guilt  proclaims  ; 
And  still  his  hands  despoil  them  on  the  road 
Of  each  vain  wreath  by  lying  bards  bestow'd, 
And  crush  their  trophies  huge,  and  raze  their  sculp- 
tur'd  names. 


306  ODES. 

XIV. 

Ye  mighty  shades,  arise,  give  place,  attend : 

Here  his  eternal  mansion  Curio  seeks  : 

—  Low  doth  proud  Wentworth  to  the  stranger 

bend, 

And  his  dire  welcome  hardy  Clifford  speaks  : 
"  He  comes,  whom  fate  with  surer  arts  prepar'd 
To  accomplish  all  which  we  but  vainly  dar'd ; 
Whom  o'er  the  stubborn  herd  she  taught  to  reign : 
Who  sooth'd  with  gaudy  dreams  their   raging 

power 

Even  to  its  last  irrevocable  hour ; 
Then  baffled  their  rude  strength,  and  broke  them 

to  the  chain." 

XT. 

But  ye,  whom  yet  wise  Liberty  inspires, 
Whom  for  her  champions  o'er  the  world  she 

claims, 

(That  household  godhead  whom  of  old  your  sires 
Sought  in  the  woods  of  Elbe  and  bore  to  Thames) 
Drive  ye  this  hostile  omen  far  away ; 
Their  own  fell  efforts  on  her  foes  repay ; 
Your  wealth,  your  arts,  your  fame,  be  hers  alone : 
Still  gird  your  swords  to  combat  on  her  side ; 
Still  frame  your  laws  her  generous  test  to  abide, 
And  win  to  her  defence  the  altar  and  the  throne. 

XVI. 

Protect  her  from  yourselves,  ere  yet  the  flood 
Of  golden  Luxury,  which  Commerce  pours, 


BOOK   I.  307 

Hath  spread  that  selfish  fierceness  through  your 

blood, 

"Which  not  her  lightest  discipline  endures  ; 
Snatch  from  fantastic  demagogues  her  cause ; 
Dream  not  of  Numa's  manners,  Plato's  laws : 
A  wiser  founder,  and  a  nobler  plan, 
O  sons  of  Alfred,  were  for  you  assigned : 
Bring  to  that  birthright  but  an  equal  mind, 
no  sublimer  lot  will  fate  reserve  for  man. 


ODE   X.8 

TO        HE    MUSE. 


QUEEN  of  my  songs,  harmonious  maid, 
Ah  why  hast  thou  withdrawn  thy  aid  ? 
Ah  why  forsaken  thus  my  breast 
With  inauspicious  damps  oppress'd  ? 
Where  is  the  dread  prophetic  heat, 
With  which  my  bosom  wont  to  beat  ? 
Where  all  the  bright  mysterious  dreams 
Of  haunted  groves  and  tuneful  streams, 
That  woo'd  my  genius  to  divinest  themes  ? 

n. 

Say,  goddess,  can  the  festal  board, 
Or  young  Olympia's  form  ador'd ; 
Say,  can  the  pomp  of  promis'd  fame 
Relume  thy  faint,  thy  dying  flame  ? 


808  ODES. 

Or  have  melodious  airs  the  power 
To  give  one  free,  poetic  hour  ? 
Or,  from  amid  the  Elysian  train, 
The  soul  of  Milton  shall  I  gain, 
To  win  thee  back  with  some  celestial  strain  ? 

in. 

0  powerful  strain !  O  sacred  soul ! 
His  numbers  every  sense  control : 
And  now  again  my  bosom  burns  ; 
The  Muse,  the  Muse  herself,  returns. 
Such  on  the  banks  of  Tyne,  confess'd, 

1  hail'd  the  fair  immortal  guest, 
When  first  she  seal'd  me  for  her  own, 
Made  all  her  blissful  treasures  known, 

And  bade  me  swear  to  follow  Her  alone. 


ODE   XL9 

ON   LOVE,   TO    A   FRIEND. 
I. 

No,  foolish  youth  —  to  virtuous  fame 
If  now  thy  early  hopes  be  vow'd, 
If  true  ambition's  nobler  flame 
Command  thy  footsteps  from  the  crowd, 
Lean  not  to  Love's  enchanting  snare ; 
His  songs,  his  words,  his  looks  beware, 
Nor  join  his  votaries,  the  young  and  fair. 


BOOK  I.  309 

II. 

By  thought,  by  dangers,  and  by  toils, 
The  wreath  of  just  renown  is  worn ; 
Nor  will  ambition's  awful  spoils 
The  flowery  pomp  of  ease  adorn : 
But  Love  unbends  the  force  of  thought ; 
By  Love  unmanly  fears  are  taught ; 

And  Love's  reward  with  gaudy  sloth  is  bought. 

in. 

Yet  thou  hast  read  in  tuneful  lays, 
And  heard  from  many  a  zealous  breast, 
The  pleasing  tale  of  beauty's  praise 
In  wisdom's  lofty  language  dress'd; 
Of  beauty  powerful  to  impart 
Each  finer  sense,  each  comelier  art, 

And  soothe  and  polish  man's  ungentle  heart. 

IV. 

If  then,  from  Love's  deceit  secure, 
Thus  far  alone  thy  wishes  tend, 
Go ;  see  the  white-wing'd  evening  hour 
On  Delia's  vernal  walk  descend : 
Go,  while  the  golden  light  serene, 
The  grove,  the  lawn,  the  soften'd  scene 
Becomes  the  presence  of  the  rural  queen. 

v. 

Attend,  while  that  harmonious  tongue 
Each  bosom,  each  desire  commands : 
Apollo's  lute  by  Hermes  strung, 
And  touch'd  by  chaste  Minerva's  hands, 


310  ,  ODES* 

Attend.     I  feel  a  force  divine, 
O  Delia,  win  my  thoughts  to  thine ; 
That  half  the  colour  of  thy  life  is  mine. 

VI. 

Yet  conscious  of  the  dangerous  charm, 
Soon  would  I  turn  my  steps  away ; 
Nor  oft  provoke  the  lovely  harm, 
Nor  lull  my  reason's  watchful  sway. 
But  thou,  my  friend  —  I  hear  thy  sighs : 
Alas,  I  read  thy  downcast  eyes ; 
And  thy  tongue  falters,  and  thy  colour  flies. 

VII. 

So  soon  again  to  meet  the  fair  ? 
So  pensive  all  this  absent  hour  ? 
—  O  yet,  unlucky  youth,  beware, 
While  yet  to  think  is  in  thy  power. 
In  vain  with  friendship's  flattering  name 
Thy  passion  veils  its  inward  shame  ; 
Friendship,  the  treacherous  fuel  of  thy  flame ! 

VIII. 

Once,  I  remember,  new  to  Love, 
And  dreading  his  tyrannic  chain, 
I  sought  a  gentle  maid  to  prove 
What  peaceful  joys  in  friendship  reign : 
Whence  we  forsooth  might  safely  stand, 
And  pitying  view  the  lovesick  band, 
And  mock  the  winged  boy's  malicious  hand. 

IX. 

Thus  frequent  pass'd  the  cloudless  day, 
To  smiles  and  sweet  discourse  resign'd ; 


BOOK    I.  311 

While  I  exulted  to  survey 
One  generous  woman's  real  mind : 
Till  friendship  soon  my  languid  breast 
Each  night  with  unknown  cares  possess'd, 

Dash'd  my  coy  slumbers,  or  my  dreams  distress'd. 

x. 

.Fool  that  I  was  —  And  now,  even  now 
While  thus  I  preach  the  Stoic  strain, 
Unless  I  shun  Olympia's  view, 
An  hour  unsays  it  all  again. 
O  friend !  —  when  Love  directs  her  eyes 
To  pierce  where  every  passion  lies, 

Where  is  the  firm,  the  cautious,  or  the  wise  ? 


ODE   XII. 

TO    SIR  FRANCIS    HENRY   DRAKE,   BARONET. 
I. 

BEHOLD  ;  the  Balance  in  the  sky 
Swift  on  the  wintry  scale  inclines : 
To  earthy  caves  the  Dryads  fly, 
And  the  bare  pastures  Pan  resigns. 
Late  did  the  farmer's  fork  o'erspread 
With  recent  soil  the  twice-mown  mead, 
Tainting  the  bloom  which  Autumn  knows : 
He  whets  the  rusty  coulter  now, 
He  binds  his  oxen  to  the  plough,    , 
And  wide  his  future  harvest  throws. 


812  ODES. 

II. 

Now,  London's  busy  confines  round, 
By  Kensington's  imperial  towers, 
From  Highgate's  rough  descent  profound, 
Essexian  heaths,  or  Kentish  bowers, 
Where'er  I  pass,  I  see  approach 
Some  rural  statesman's  eager  coach 
Hurried  by  senatorial  cares : 
"While  rural  nymphs  (alike,  within, 
Aspiring  courtly  praise  to  win) 
Debate  their  dress,  reform  their  airs. 

in. 
Say,  what  can  now  the  country  boast, 

0  Drake,  thy  footsteps  to  detain, 
When  peevish  winds  and  gloomy  frost 
The  sunshine  of  the  temper  stain  ? 
Say,  are  the  priests  of  Devon  grown 
Friends  to  this  tolerating  throne, 
Champions  for  George's  legal  right  ? 
Have  general  freedom,  equal  law, 
Won  to  the  glory  of  Nassau 

Each  bold  Wessexian  squire  and  knight  ? 

IV. 

1  doubt  it  much ;  and  guess  at  least 
That  when  the  day,  which  made  us  free, 
Shall  next  return,  that  sacred  feast 
Thou  better  may'st  observe  with  me. 
With  me  the  sulphurous  treason  old 

A  far  inferior  part  shall  hold 


BOOK   I.  313 

In  that  glad  day's  triumphal  strain ; 
And  generous  William  be  rever'd, 
Nor  one  untimely  accent  heard 
Of  James  or  his  ignoble  reign. 

v. 

Then,  while  the  Gascon's  fragrant  wine 
With  modest  cups  our  joy  supplies, 
We'll  truly  thank  the  power  divine 
Who  bade  the  chief,  the  patriot  rise ; 
Rise  from  heroic  ease  (the  spoil 
Due,  for  his  youth's  Herculean  toil, 
From  Belgium  to  her  saviour  son), 
Rise  with  the  same  unconquer'd  zeal 
For  our  Britannia's  injured  weal, 
Her  laws  defac'd,  her  shrines  o'erthrown. 

VI. 

He  came.     The  tyrant  from  our  shore, 

Like  a  forbidden  demon,  fled  ; 

And  to  eternal  exile  bore 

Pontific  rage  and  vassal  dread. 

There  sunk  the  mouldering  Gothic  reign : 

New  years  came  forth,  a  liberal  train, 

Call'd  by  the  people's  great  decree. 

That  day,  my  friend,  let  blessings  crown : 

—  Fill,  to  the  demigod's  renown 

From  whom  thou  hast  that  thou  art  free. 

VII. 

Then,  Drake,  (for  wherefore  should  we  part 
The  public  and  the  private  weal  ?) 
x 


314  ODES. 

In  vows  to  her  who  sways  thy  heart, 
Fair  health,  glad  fortune,  will  we  deal. 
Whether  Aglaia's  blooming  cheek, 
Or  the  soft  ornaments  that  speak 
So  eloquent  in  Daphne's  smile, 
"Whether  the  piercing  lights  that  fly 
From  the  dark  heaven  of  Myrto's  eye, 
Haply  thy  fancy  then  beguile. 

VIII. 

For  so  it  is :  —  thy  stubborn  breast, 
Though  touch'd  by  many  a  slighter  wound, 
Hath  no  full  conquest  yet  confess'd, 
Nor  the  one  fatal  charmer  found. 
While  I,  a  true  and  loyal  swain, 
My  fair  Olympia's  gentle  reign 
Through  all  the  varying  seasons  own. 
Her  genius  still  my  bosom  warms  : 
No  other  maid  for  me  hath  charms, 
Or  I  have  eyes  for  her  alone. 


ODE   XIH.10 

ON   LYRIC    POETRY. 
I.     1. 

ONCE  more  I  join  the  Thespian  choir, 
And  taste  the  inspiring  fount  again  : 
O  parent  of  the  Grecian  lyre, 
Admit  me  to  thy  powerful  strain  — 


BOOK   I.  315 

And  lo,  with  ease  my  step  invades 
The  pathless  vale  and  opening  shades, 
Till  now  I  spy  her  verdant  seat ; 
And  now  at  large  I  drink  the  sound, 
While  these  her  offspring,  listening  round, 
By  turns  her  melody  repeat. 

I.    2. 

I  see  Auacreon  smile  and  sing, 

His  silver  tresses  breathe  perfume ; 

His  cheek  displays  a  second  spring 

Of  roses  taught  by  wine  to  bloom. 

Away,  deceitful  cares,  away, 

And  let  me  listen  to  his  lay ; 

Let  me  the  wanton  pomp  enjoy, 

While  in  smooth  dance  the  light-wing'd  Hours 

Lead  round  his  lyre  its  patron  powers, 

Kind  Laughter  and  convivial  Joy. 

I.    3. 

Broke  from  the  fetters  of  his  native  land, 
Devoting  shame  and  vengeance  to  her  lords, 
With  louder  impulse  and  a  threatening  hand 
The  Lesbian  patriot* smites  the  sounding  chords: 
Ye  wretches,  ye  perfidious  train, 
Ye  curs'd  of  gods  and  free-born  men, 

Ye  murderers  of  the  laws, 
Though  now  ye  glory  in  your  lust, 
Though  now  ye  tread  the  feeble  neck  in  dust, 
Yet  Time  and  righteous   Jove   will  judge  your 
dreadful  cause. 

*  Alcaeus. 


316  ODES. 

II.  1. 

But  lo,  to  Sappho's  melting  airs 
Descends  the  radiant  queen  of  love : 
She  smiles,  and  asks  what  fonder  cares 
Her  suppliant's  plaintive  measures  move : 
Why  is  my  faithful  maid  distress'd? 
Who,  Sappho,  wounds  thy  tender  breast  ? 
Say,  flies  he  ?  —  Soon  he  shall  pursue  : 
Shuns  he  thy  gifts  ?  —  He  soon  shall  give : 
Slights  he  thy  sorrows  ?  —  He  shall  grieve, 
And  soon  to  all  thy  wishes  bow. 

II.    2. 

But,  O  Melpomene,  for  whom 
Awakes  thy  golden  shell  again  ? 
What  mortal  breath  shall  e'er  presume 
To  echo  that  unbounded  strain  ? 
Majestic  in  the  frown  of  years, 
Behold,  the  man  of  Thebes  *  appears : 
For  some  there  are,  whose  mighty  frame 
The  hand  of  Jove  at  birth  endow'd 
With  hopes  that  mock  the  gazing  crowd ; 
As  eagles  drink  the  noontide  flame, 

II.    3. 

While  the  dim  raven  beats  her  weary  wings, 
And  clamours  far  below.  —  Propitious  Muse, 
While  I  so  late  unlock  thy  purer  springs, 
And  breathe  whate'er  thy  ancient  airs  infuse, 
Wilt  thou  for  Albion's  sons  around 
(Ne'er  hadst  thou  audience  more  renown'd) 
*  Pindar. 


I 
I 


BOOK    I.  317 

Thy  charming  arts  employ, 
As  when  the  winds  from  shore  to  shore 

Thro'  Greece  thy  lyre's  persuasive  language  bore, 
Till  towns  and  isles  and  seas  return'd  the  vocal  joy  ? 

in.    l. 

Yet  then  did  Pleasure's  lawless  throng, 
Oft  rushing  forth  in  loose  attire, 
Thy  virgin  dance,  thy  graceful  song 
Pollute  with  impious  revels  dire. 
O  fair,  0  chaste,  thy  echoing  shade 
May  no  foul  discord  here  invade  j 
Nor  let  thy  strings  one  accent  move, 
Except  what  earth's  untroubled  ear 
'Mid  all  her  social  tribes  may  hear, 
And  heaven's  unerring  throne  approve. 

III.    2. 

Queen  of  the  lyre,  in  thy  retreat 
The  fairest  flowers  of  Pindus  glow  ; 
The  vine  aspires  to  crown  thy  seat, 
And  myrtles  round  thy  laurel  grow. 
Thy  strings  adapt  their  varied  strain 
To  every  pleasure,  every  pain, 
Which  mortal  tribes  were  born  to  prove ; 
And  straight  our  passions  rise  or  fall, 
As  at  the  wind's  imperious  call 
The  ocean  swells,  the  billows  move. 
III.    3. 

When    midnight    listens  o'er    the    slumbering 
earth, 

Let  me,  O  Muse,  thy  solemn  whispers  hear: 


818  ODES. 

When  morning  sends  her  fragrant  breezes  forth, 
With  airy  murmurs  touch  my  opening  ear. 
And  ever  watchful  at  thy  side, 
Let  Wisdom's  awful  suffrage  guide 

The  tenor  of  thy  lay : 
To  her  of  old  by  Jove  was  given 
To  judge  the  various  deeds  of  earth  and  heaven ; 
'Twas  thine  by  gentle  arts  to  win  us  to  her  sway. 

IV.    1. 

Oft  as,  to  well-earn'd  ease  resign'd, 
I  quit  the  maze  where  Science  toils, 
Do  thou  refresh  my  yielding  mind 
With  all  thy  gay,  delusive  spoils. 
But,  O  indulgent,  come  not  nigh 
The  busy  steps,  the  jealous  eye 
Of  wealthy  care  or  gainful  age ; 
Whose  barren  souls  thy  joys  disdain, 
And  hold  as  foes  to  reason's  reign 
Whome'er  thy  lovely  works  engage. 

IV.    2. 

When  friendship  and  when  letter'd  mirth 
Haply  partake  my  simple  board, 
Then  let  thy  blameless  hand  call  forth 
The  music  of  the  Teian  chord. 
Or  if  invok'd  at  softer  hours, 
O !  seek  with  me  the  happy  bowers 
That  hear  Olympia's  gentle  tongue ; 
To  beauty  link'd  with  virtue's  train, 
To  love  devoid  of  jealous  pain, 
There  let  the  Sapphic  lute  be  strung. 


BOOK   I.  319 

IV.     3. 

But  when  from  envy  and  from  death  to  claim 
A  hero  bleeding  for  his  native  land ; 
When  to  throw  incense  on  the  vestal  flame 
Of  Liberty  my  genius  gives  command, 
Nor  Theban  voice  nor  Lesbian  lyre 
From  thee,  O  Muse,  do  I  require ; 

While  my  presaging  mind, 
Conscious  of  powers  she  never  knew, 
Astonish'd  grasps  at  things  beyond  her  view, 
Nor  by  another's  fate  submits  to  be  confin'd. 

ODE  XIV. 

TO  THE  HONOURABLE  CHARLES  TOWNSHEND  ; 

FROM  THE  COUNTRY. 

I. 

SAY,  Townshend,  what  can  London  boast 
To  pay  thee  for  the  pleasures  lost, 

The  health  to-day  resign'd, 
When  Spring  from  this  her  favourite  seat 
Bade  Winter  hasten  his  retreat, 

And  met  the  western  wind. 

ii. 

O  knew'st  thou  how  the  balmy  air, 
The  sun,  the  azure  heavens  prepare 

To  heal  thy  languid  frame, 
No  more  would  noisy  courts  engage ; 
In  vain  would  lying  Faction's  rage 

Thy  sacred  leisure  claim. 


320  ODES. 

III. 

Oft  I  look'd  forth,  and  oft  admir'd ; 
Till  with  the  studious  volume  tir'd 

I  sought  the  open  day ; 
And  sure,  I  cried,  the  rural  gods 
Expect  me  in  their  green  abodes, 

And  chide  my  tardy  lay. 

IV. 

But  ah,  in  vain  my  restless  feet 
Trac'd  every  silent  shady  seat 

Which  knew  their  forms  of  old : 
Nor  Naiad  by  her  fountain  laid, 
Nor  Wood-nymph  tripping  through  her  glade, 

Did  now  their  rites  unfold : 

v. 

Whether  to  nurse  some  infant  oak 
They  turn  the  slowly  tinkling  brook 

And  catch  the  pearly  showers, 
Or  brush  the  mildew  from  the  woods, 
Or  paint  with  noontide  beams  the  buds, 

Or  breathe  on  opening  flowers. 

VI. 

Such  rites,  which  they  with  Spring  renew, 
The  eyes  of  care  can  never  view ; 

And  care  hath  long  been  mine : 
And  hence  offended  with  their  guest, 
Since  grief  of  love  my  soul  oppress'd, 

They  hide  their  toils  divine. 

VII. 

But  soon  shall  thy  enlivening  tongue 
This  heart,  by  dear  affliction  wrung, 


BOOK   I.  321 

With  noble  hope  inspire  : 
Then  will  the  sylvan  powers  again 
Receive  me  in  their  genial  train, 

And  listen  to  my  lyre. 

VIII. 

Beneath  yon  Dryad's  lonely  shade  " 
A  rustic  altar  shall  be  paid, 

Of  turf  with  laurel  fram'd ; 
And  thou  the  inscription  wilt  approve : 
"  This  for  the  peace  which,  lost  by  love, 

By  friendship  was  reclaim'd." 


ODE   XV 


STA#. 


TO   THE   EVENING 
I. 

TO-NIGHT  retir'd  the  queen  of  heaven, 

"With  young  Endymion  stays : 
And  now  to  Hesper  it  is  given 
Awhile  to  rule  the  vacant  sky, 
Till  she  shall  to  her  lamp  supply 

A  stream  of  brighter  rays. 

ii. 
O  Hesper,  while  the  starry  throng 

With  awe  thy  path  surrounds, 
Oh,  listen  to  my  suppliant  song, 
If  haply  now  the  vocal  sphere 
Can  suffer  thy  delighted  ear 

To  stoop  to  mortal  sounds. 


322  ODES. 

in. 
So  may  the  bridegroom's  genial  strain 

Thee  still  invoke  to  shine ; 
So  may  the  bride's  unmarried  train 
To  Hymen  chaunt  their  flattering  vow, 
Still  that  his  lucky  torch  may  glow 

With  lustre  pure  as  thine. 

IV. 

Far  other  vows  must  I  prefer 

To  thy  indulgent  power. 
Alas  !  but  now  I  paid  my  tear 
On  fair  Olympia's  virgin  tomb ; 
And  lo,  from  thence,  in  quest  I  roam 

Of  Philomela's  bower. 

v. 
Propitious  send  thy  golden  ray, 

Thou  purest  light  above : 
Let  no  false  flame  seduce  to  stray 
Where  gulf  or  steep  lie  hid  for  harm ; 
But  lead  where  music's  healing  charm 

May  soothe  afflicted  love. 

VI. 

To  them,  by  many  a  grateful  song 

In  happier  seasons  vow'd, 
These  lawns,  Olympia's  haunt,  belong : 
Oft  by  yon  silver  stream  we  walk'd, 
Or  fix'd,  while  Philomela  talk'd, 

Beneath  yon  copses  stood. 

VII. 

Nor  seldom,  where  the  beechen  boughs 
That  roofless  tower  invade, 


BOOK  i.  323 

We  came  while  her  enchanting  Muse 
The  radiant  moon  above  us  held ; 
Till,  by  a  clamorous  owl  compell'd, 
She  fled  the  solemn  shade. 

VIII. 

But  hark  ;  I  hear  her  liquid  tone. 

Now,  Hesper,  guide  my  feet 
Down  the  red  marl  with  moss  o'ergrown, 
Through  yon  wild  thicket  next  the  plain, 
Whose  hawthorns  choke  the  winding  lane, 

Which  leads  to  her  retreat 

IX. 

See  the  green  space :  on  either  hand 

Enlarg'd  it  spreads  around : 
See,  in  the  midst  she  takes  her  stand, 
Where  one  old  oak  his  awful  shade 
Extends  o'er  half  the  level  mead 

Inclos'd  in  woods  profound. 

x. 
Hark  how  through  many  a  melting  note 

She  now  prolongs  her  lays  : 
How  sweetly  down  the  void  they  float ! 
The  breeze  their  magic  path  attends ; 
The  stars  shine  out ;  the  forest  bends ; 

The  wakeful  heifers  gaze. 

XI. 

Whoe'er  thou  art  whom  chance  may  bring 

To  this  sequester'd  spot, 
If  then  the  plaintive  Siren  sing, 
O  softly  tread  beneath  her  bower, 


324  ODES. 

And  think  of  heaven's  disposing  power, 
Of  man's  uncertain  lot. 

XII. 

O  think,  o'er  all  this  mortal  stage, 
What  mournful  scenes  arise ; 

What  ruin  waits  on  kingly  rage  ; 

How  often  virtue  dwells  with  woe ; 

How  many  griefs  from  knowledge  flow ; 
How  swiftly  pleasure  flies. 

XIII. 

O  sacred  bird,  let  me  .at  eve, 

Thus  wandering  all  alone, 
Thy  tender  counsel  oft  receive, 
Bear  witness  to  thy  pensive  airs, 
And  pity  Nature's  common  cares 

Till  I  forget  my  own. 


ODE   XVI. 

TO    CALEB   HARDINGE,   M.   D. 
I. 

WITH  sordid  floods  the  wintry  Urn  * 
Hath  stain'd  fair  Richmond's  level  green ; 
Her  naked  hill  the  Dryads  mourn, 
No  longer  a  poetic  scene. 
No  longer  there  thy  raptur'd  eye 
The  beauteous  forms  of  earth  or  sky 
Surveys  as  in  their  Author's  mind  ; 
*  Aquarius. 


BOOK  i.  325 

And  London  shelters  from  the  year 
Those  whom  thy  social  hours  to  share 

The  Attic  Muse  design'd. 

ii. 

From  Hampstead's  airy  summit  me 
Her  guest  the  city  shall  behold, 
What  day  the  people's  stern  decree 
To  unbelieving  kings  is  told, 
When  common  men  (the  dread  of  fame) 
Adjudg'd  as  one  of  evil  name, 
Before  the  sun,  the  anointed  head. 
Then  seek  thou  too  the  pious  town, 
With  no  unworthy  cares  to  crown 

That  evening's  awful  shade. 

in. 

Deem  not  I  call  thee  to  deplore 
The  sacred  martyr  of  the  day, 
By  fast  and  penitential  lore 
To  purge  our  ancient  guilt  away. 
For  this,  on  humble  faith  I  rest 
That  still  our  advocate,  the  priest, 
From  heavenly  wrath  will  save  the  land ; 
Nor  ask  what  rites  our  pardon  gain, 
Nor  how  his  potent  sounds  restrain 

The  thunderer's  lifted  hand. 

IV. 

No,  Hardinge :  peace  to  church  and  state ! 
That  evening,  let  the  Muse  give  law ; 
While  I  anew  the  theme  relate 
Which  my  first  youth  enamour'd  saw. 


326  ODES. 

Then  will  I  oft  explore  thy  thought, 
What  to  reject  which  Locke  hath  taught, 
What  to  pursue  in  Virgil's  lay  ; 
Till  hope  ascends  to  loftiest  things, 
Nor  envies  demagogues  or  kings 

Their  frail  and  vulgar  sway. 

v. 

O  vers'd  in  all  the  human  frame, 
Lead  thou  where'er  my  labour  lies, 
And  English  fancy's  eager  flame 
To  Grecian  purity  chastise ; 
While  hand  in  hand,  at  Wisdom's  shrine, 
Beauty  with  truth  I  strive  to  join, 
And  grave  assent  with  glad  applause ; 
To  paint  the  story  of  the  soul, 
And  Plato's  visions  to  control 

By  Verulamian  *  laws. 


ODE   XVII. 

ON   A   SERMON   AGAINST   GLORY.      1747. 
I. 

COME  then,  tell  me,  sage  divine, 
Is  it  an  offence  to  own 
That  our  bosoms  e'er  incline 
Toward  immortal  Glory's  throne  ? 

*  Verulam  gave  one  of  his  titles  to  Francis  Bacon,  author 
of  the  Novum  Organum. 


BOOK  i.  327 

For  with  me  nor  pomp  nor  pleasure, 

Bourbon's  might,  Braganza's  treasure, 

So  can  Fancy's  dream  rejoice, 

So  conciliate  Reason's  choice, 
As  one  approving  word  of  her  impartial  voice, 
ii. 

If  to  spurn  at  noble  praise 

Be  the  passport  to  thy  heaven, 

Follow  thou  those  gloomy  ways : 

No  such  law  to  me  was  given ; 

Nor,  I  trust,  shall  I  deplore  me, 

Faring  like  my  friends  before  me ; 

Nor  an  holier  place  desire 

Than  Timoleon's  arms  require, 
And  Tully's  curule  chair,  and  Milton's  golden  lyre. 


ODE   XVII1.U 

THE   RIGHT   HONOURABLE   FRANCIS   EARL 
OP  HUNTINGDON.      1747. 

I.     1. 

THE  wise  and  great  of  every  clime, 
Through  all  the  spacious  walks  of  Time, 
Where'er  the  Muse  her  power  display'd, 
With  joy  have  listen'd  and  obey'd. 
For,  taught  of  Heaven,  the  sacred  Nine 
Persuasive  numbers,  forms  divine, 
To  mortal  sense  impart : 


328  ODES. 

They  best  the  soul  with  glory  fire ; 
They  noblest  counsels,  boldest  deeds  inspire ; 
And  high  o'er  Fortune's  rage  enthrone  the  fixed 
heart. 

I.    2. 

Nor  less  prevailing  is  their  charm 
The  vengeful  bosom  to  disarm ; 
To  melt  the  proud  with  human  woe, 
And  prompt  unwilling  tears  to  flow. 
Can  wealth  a  power  like  this  afford  ? 
Can  Cromwell's  arts,  or  Marlborough's  sword, 

An  equal  empire  claim  ? 
No,  Hastings.     Thou  my  words  wilt  own : 
Thy  breast  the  gifts  of  every  Muse  hath  known  ; 
Nor  shall  the  giver's  love  disgrace  thy  noble  name. 

I.  3. 

The  Muse's  awful  art, 
And  the  blest  function  of  the  poet's  tongue, 
Ne'er  shalt  thou  blush  to  honour ;  to  assert 
From  all  that  scorned  vice  or  slavish  fear  hath 

sung. 

Nor  shall  the  blandishment  of  Tuscan  strings 
Warbling  at  will  in  Pleasure's  myrtle  bower ; 
Nor  shall  the  servile  notes  to  Celtic  kings 
By  flattering  minstrels  paid  in  evil  hour, 
Move  thee  to  spurn  the  heavenly  Muse's  reign. 
A  different  strain, 
And  other  themes 

From  her  prophetic  shades  and  hallow'd  streams 
(Thou  well  canst  witness)  meet  the  purged  ear : 


BOOK  i.  329 

Such  as  when  Greece  to  her  immortal  shell 
Rejoicing  listen'd,  godlike  sounds  to  hear ; 
To  hear  the  sweet  instructress  tell 
(While  men  and  heroes  throng'd  around) 
How  life  its  noblest  use  may  find, 
How  well  for  freedom  be  resigned ; 
And  how,  by  glory,  virtue  shall  be  crown'd. 

n.    i. 

Such  was  the  Chian  father's  strain 
To  many  a  kind  domestic  train, 
Whose  pious  hearth  and  genial  bowl 
Had  cheer'd  the  reverend  pilgrim's  soul : 
When,  every  hospitable  rite 
With  equal  bounty  to  requite, 

He  struck  his  magio  strings, 
And  pour'd  spontaneous  numbers  forth, 
And  seiz'd  their  ears  with  tales  of  ancient  worth, 
And  fill'd  their  musing  hearts  with  vast  heroic 
things. 

H.   2. 

Now  oft,  where  happy  spirits  dwell, 
Where  yet  he  tunes  his  charming  shell, 
Oft  near  him,  with  applauding  hands, 
The  Genius  of  his  country  stands. 
To  listening  gods  he  makes  him  known, 
That  man  divine,  by  whom  were  sown 

The  seeds  of  Grecian  fame : 
Who  first  the  race  with  freedom  fir'd ; 

Y 


330  ODES. 

From  whom  Lycurgus  Sparta's  sons  inspired ; 
From  whom  Plataean  palms  and  Cyprian  trophies 
came. 

n.    3. 

O  noblest,  happiest  age  ! 
When  Aristides  rul'd,  and  Cimon  fought ; 
When  all  the  generous  fruits  of  Homer's  page 
Exulting  Pindar  saw  to  full  perfection  brought. 
O  Pindar,  oft  shalt  thou  be  hail'd  of  me : 
Not  that  Apollo  fed  thee  from  his  shrine ; 
Not  that  thy  lips  drank  sweetness  from  the  bee ; 
Nor  yet  that,  studious  of  thy  notes  divine, 
Pan  danc'd  their  measure  with  the  sylvan  throng : 
But  that  thy  song 
Was  proud  to  unfold 

What  thy  base  rulers  trembled  to  behold ; 
Amid  corrupted  Thebes  was  proud  to  tell 
The  deeds  of  Athens  and  the  Persian  shame : 
Hence  on  thy  head  their  impious  vengeance  fell. 
But  thou,  O  faithful  to  thy  tame, 
The  Muse's  law  didst  rightly  know ; 
That  who  would  animate  his  lays, 
And  other  minds  to  virtue  raise, 
Must  feel  his  own  with  all  her  spirit  glow. 

HI.    1. 

Are  there,  approv'd  of  later  times, 
Whose  verse  adorn'd  a  tyrant's  *  crimes  ? 
Who  saw  majestic  Rome  betray 'd, 
And  lent  the  imperial  ruffian  aid  ? 
*  Octavianus  Caesar. 


BOOK   I.  331 

Alas  !  not  one  polluted  bard, 

No,  not  the  strains  that  Mincius  heard, 

Or  Tibur's  hills  replied, 
Dare  to  the  Muse's  ear  aspire ; 
Save  that,  instructed  by  the  Grecian  lyre, 
With  Freedom's  ancient  notes  their  shameful  task 
they  hide. 

HI.    2. 

Mark,  how  the  dread  Pantheon  stands, 
Amid  the  domes  of  modern  hands : 
Amid  the  toys  of  idle  state, 
How  simply,  how  severely  great ! 
Then  turn,  and,  while  each  western  clime 
Presents  her  tuneful  sons  to  Time, 
So  mark  thou  Milton's  name ; 
And  add,  "  Thus  differs  from  the  throng 
The  spirit  which  inform'd  thy  awful  song, 
Which  bade  thy  potent  voice  protect  thy  country  s 
fame." 

m.  3. 

Yet  hence  barbaric  zeal 
His  memory  with  unholy  rage  pursues ; 
While  from  these  arduous  cares  of  public  weal 
She  bids  each  bard  begone,  and  rest  him  with  his 

Muse. 

0  fool !  to  think  the  man,  whose  ample  mind 
Must  grasp  at  all  that  yonder  stars  survey ; 
Must  join  the  noblest  forms  of  every  kind, 
The  world's  most  perfect  image  to  display,  — 


832  ODES. 

Can  e'er  his  country's  majesty  behold, 
Unmov'd  or  cold ! 
0  fool !  to  deem 

That  he  whose  thought  must  visit  every  theme, 
Whose  heart  must  every  strong  emotion  know 
Inspir'd  by  Nature,  or  by  Fortune  taught,  — 
That  he,  if  haply  some  presumptuous  foe, 
With  false,  ignoble  science  fraught, 
Shall  spurn  at  Freedom's  faithful  band ; 
That  he  their  dear  defence  will  shun, 
Or  hide  their  glories  from  the  sun, 
Or  deal  their  vengeance  with  a  woman's  hand ! 

IV.    1. 

I  care  not  that  in  Arno's  plain, 
Or  on  the  sportive  banks  of  Seine, 
From  public  themes  the  Muse's  quire 
Content  with  polish'd  ease  retire. 
Where  priests  the  studious  head  command, 
Where  tyrants  bow  the  warlike  hand 

To  vile  ambition's  aim, 
Say,  what  can  public  themes  afford, 
Save  venal  honours  to  a  hateful  lord,      [fame  ? 
Beserv'd  for  angry  heaven,  and  scorn'd  of  honest 

IV.    2. 

But  here,  where  Freedom's  equal  throne 
To  all  her  valiant  sons  is  known ; 
Where  all  are  conscious  of  her  cares, 
And  each  the  power  that  rules  him  shares ; 
Here  let  the  bard,  whose  dastard  tongue 
Leaves  public  arguments  unsung, 
Bid  public  praise  farewell : 


BOOK  i.  333 

Let  him  to  fitter  climes  remove, 
Far  from  the  hero's  and  the  patriot's  love, 
And  lull  mysterious  monks  to  slumber  in  their  cell. 

IV.  3. 

O  Hastings,  not  to  all 

Can  ruling  Heaven  the  same  endowments  lend : 
Yet  still  doth  Nature  to  her  offspring  call, 
That  to  one  general  weal  their  different  powers  they 

bend, 

Unenvious.     Thus  alone,  though  strains  divine 
Inform  the  bosom  of  the  Muse's  son ; 
Though  with  new  honours  the  patrician's  line 
Advance  from  age  to  age ;  yet  thus  alone 
They  win  the  suffrage  of  impartial  fame. 
The  poet's  name 
He  best  shall  prove, 

Whose  lays  the  soul  with  noblest  passions  move. 
But  thee,  O  progeny  of  heroes  old, 
Thee  to  severer  toil  thy  fate  requires : 
The  fate  which  form'd  thee  in  a  chosen  mould, 
The  grateful  country  of  thy  sires, 
Thee  to  sublimer  paths  demand  j 
Sublimer  than  thy  sires  could  trace, 
Or  thy  own  Edward  teach  his  race, 
Tho'  Gaul's  proud  genius  sank  beneath  his  hand. 

V.  1. 

From  rich  domains  and  subject  farms 
They  led  the  rustic  youth  to  arms, 
And  kings  their  stern  achievements  fear'd ; 
While  private  strife  their  banners  rear'd. 


334  ODES. 

But  loftier  scenes  to  thee  are  shown, 
Where  empire's  wide  establish'd  throne 

No  private  master  fills  : 
Where,  long  foretold,  the  People  reigns : 
Where  each  a  vassal's  humble  heart  disdains ; 
And  judgeth  what  he  sees ;  and,  as  he  judgeth,  wills. 

V.    2. 

Here  be  it  thine  to  calm  and  guide 
The  swelling  democratic  tide ; 
To  watch  the  state's  uncertain  frame, 
And  baffle  Faction's  partial  aim : 
But  chiefly,  with  determin'd  zeal, 
To  quell  that  servile  band,  who  kneel 

To  Freedom's  banish'd  foes  ; 
That  monster,  which  is  daily  found 
Expert  and  bold  thy  country's  peace  to  wound ; 
Yet  dreads  to  handle  arms,  nor  manly  counsel  knows. 

V.    3. 

'Tis  highest  Heaven's  command, 
That  guilty  aims  should  sordid  paths  pursue ; 
That  what  ensnares  the  heart  should  maim  the 

hand, 

And  Virtue's  worthless  foes  be  false  to  glory  too. 
But  look  on  Freedom :  see,  through  every  age, 
What  labours,  perils,  griefs,  hath  she  disdain'd ! 
What  arms,  what  regal  pride,  what  priestly  rage, 
Have  her  dread  offspring  conquer'd  or  sustain'd  1 
For  Albion  well  have  conquer'd.    Let  the  strains 
Of  happy  swains, 
Which  now  resound 


BOOK  i.  335 

Where  Scarsdale's  cliffs  the  swelling  pastures 

1  bound, 

Bear  witness ;  —  there,  oft  let  the  farmer  hail 
The  sacred  orchard  which  embowers  his  gate, 
And  show  to  strangers  passing  down  the  vale, 
Where  Candish,  Booth,  and  Osborne  sate; 
When  bursting  from  their  country's  chain, 
Even  in  the  midst  of  deadly  harms, 
Of  papal  snares  and  lawless  arms, 
They  plann'd  for  Freedom  this  her  noblest  reign. 

VI.    1. 

This  reign,  these  laws,  this  public  care, 
Which  Nassau  gave  us  all  to  share, 
Had  ne'er  adorn'd  the  English  name, 
Could  Fear  have  silenc'd  Freedom's  claim. 
But  Fear  in  vain  attempts  to  bind 
Those  lofty  efforts  of  the  mind 

Which  social  good  inspires ; 
Where  men,  for  this,  assault  a  throne, 
Each  adds  the  common  welfare  to  his  own ; 
And  each  unconquer'd  heart  the  strength  of  all 
acquires. 

VI.    2. 

Say,  was  it  thus,  when  late  we  view'd 
Our  fields  in  civil  blood  imbru'd  ? 
When  fortune  crown'd  the  barbarous  host, 
And  half  the  astonish'd  isle  was  lost  ? 
Did  one  of  all  that  vaunting  train, 
Who  dare  affront  a  peaceful  reign, 
Durst  one  in  arms  appear  ? 


336  ODES. 

Durst  one  in  counsels  pledge  his  life  ? 
Stake  his  luxurious  fortunes  in  the  strife  ? 
Or  lend  his  boasted  name  his  vagrant  friends  to 
,-      cheer  ? 

VI.    3. 

Yet,  Hastings,  these  are  they 
Who  challenge  to  themselves  thy  country's  love ; 
The  true,  the  constant :  who  alone  can  weigh 
"What  glory  should  demand,  or  liberty  approve ! 
But  let  their  works  declare  them.  Thy  free  powers, 
The  generous  powers  of  thy  prevailing  mind, 
Not  for  the  tasks  of  their  confederate  hours, 
Lewd  brawls  and  lurking  slander,  were  design'd. 
Be  thou  thy  own  approver.     Honest  praise 
Oft  nobly  sways 
Ingenuous  youth ; 

But,  sought  from  cowards  and  the  lying  mouth, 
Praise  is  reproach.     Eternal  God  alone 
For  mortals  fixeth  that  sublime  award. 
He,  from  the  faithful  records  of  his  throne, 

Bids  the  historian  and  the  bard 
Dispose  of  honour  and  of  scorn ; 
Discern  the  patriot  from  the  slave  ; 
And  write  the  good,  the  wise,  the  brave, 
For  lessons  to  the  multitude  unborn. 


BOOK  ii.  337 


BOOK    H. 
ODE  L 

THE   REMONSTRANCE    OF   SHAKESPEARE  I 

SUPPOSED  TO  HAVE  BEEN  SPOKEN  AT  THE  THEATRE  ROYAL, 

WHILE  THE  FRENCH  COMEDIANS  WERE  ACTING 

BY  SUBSCRIPTION.      1749. 

IF,  yet  regardful  of  your  native  land, 
Old  Shakespeare's  tongue  you  deign  to  understand, 
Lo,  from  the  blissful  bowers  where  heaven  rewards 
Instructive  sages  and  unblemish'd  bards, 
I  come,  the  ancient  founder  of  the  stage, 
Intent  to  learn,  in  this  discerning  age, 
What  form  of  wit  your  fancies  have  embraced, 
And  whither  tends  your  elegance  of  taste, 
That  thus  at  length  our  homely  toils  you  spurn, 
That  thus  to  foreign  scenes  you  proudly  turn, 
That  from  my  brow  the  laurel  wreath  you  claim 
To  crown  the  rivals  of  your  country's  fame. 

What  though  the  footsteps  of  my  devious  Muse 
The  measur'd  walks  of  Grecian  art  refuse  ? 
Or  though  the  frankness  of  my  hardy  style 
Mock  the  nice  touches  of  the  critic's  file  ? 
Yet,  what  my  age  and  climate  held  to  view, 
Impartial  I  survey'd,  and  fearless  drew. 


838  ODES. 

And  say,  ye  skilful  in  the  human  heart, 
Who  know  to  prize  a  poet's  noblest  part, 
What  age,  what  clime,  could  e'er  an  ampler  field 
For  lofty  thought,  for  daring  fancy,  yield  ? 
I  saw  this  England  break  the  shameful  bands 
Forg'd  for  the  souls  of  men  by  sacred  hands : 
I  saw  each  groaning  realm  her  aid  implore  ; 
Her  sons  the  heroes  of  each  warlike  shore : 
Her  naval  standard  (the  dire  Spaniard's  bane) 
Obey'd  through  all  the  circuit  of  the  main. 
Then,  too,  great  Commerce,  for  a  late-found  world, 
Around  your  coast  her  eager  sails  unfurl'd : 
New  hopes,  new  passions,  thence  the  bosom  fir'd ; 
New  plans,  new  arts,  the  genius  thence  inspir'd ; 
Thence  every  scene  which  private  fortune  knows, 
In  stronger  life,  with  bolder  spirit,  rose. 

Disgrac'd  I  this  full  prospect  which  I  drew  ? 
My  colours  languid,  or  my  strokes  untrue  ? 
Have  not  your  sages,  warriors,  swains,  and  kings, 
Confess'd  the  living  draught  of  men  and  things  ? 
What  other  bard  in  any  clime  appears 
Alike  the  master  of  your  smiles  and  tears  ? 
Yet  have  I  deign'd  your  audience  to  entice 
With  wretched  bribes  to  luxury  and  vice  ? 
Or  have  my  various  scenes  a  purpose  known 
Which  freedom,  virtue,  glory,  might  not  own  ? 

Such  from  the  first  was  my  dramatic  plan ; 
It  should  be  yours  to  crown  what  I  began : 
And  now  that  England  spurns  her  Gothic  chain, 
And  equal  laws  and  social  science  reign, 


BOOK  ii.  339 


I  thought,  Now  surely  shall  my  zealous  eyes 
View  nobler  bards  and  juster  critics  rise, 
Intent  with  learned  labour  to  refine 
The  copious  ore  of  Albion's  native  mine, 
Our  stately  Muse  more  graceful  airs  to  teach, 
And  form  her  tongue  to  more  attractive  speech, 
Till  rival  nations  listen  at  her  feet, 
And  own  her  polish'd  as  they  own  her  great. 

But  do  you  thus  my  favourite  hopes  fulfil? 
Is  France  at  last  the  standard  of  your  skill? 
Alas  for  you  !  that  so  betray  a  mind 
Of  art  unconscious,  and  to  beauty  blind. 
Say,  does  her  language  your  ambition  raise, 
Her  barren,  trivial,  unharmonious  phrase, 
Which  fetters  eloquence  to  scantiest  bounds, 
And  maims  the  cadence  of  poetic  sounds? 
Say,  does  your  humble  admiration  choose 
The  gentle  prattle  of  her  Comic  Muse, 
"While  wits,  plain-dealers,  fops,  and  fools  appear, 
Charg'd  to  say  nought  but  what  the  king  may  hear? 
Or  rather  melt  your  sympathising  hearts, 
Won  by  her  tragic  scene's  romantic  arts, 
Where  old  and  young  declaim  on  soft  desire, 
And  heroes  never,  but  for  love,  expire  ? 

No.     Though  the  charms  of  novelty,  awhile, 
Perhaps  too  fondly  win  your  thoughtless  smile, 
Yet  not  for  you  design'd  indulgent  fate 
The  modes  or  manners  of  the  Bourbon  state. 
And  ill  your  minds  my  partial  judgment  reads, 
And  many  an  augury  my  hope  misleads, 


340  ODE3. 

If  the  fair  maids  of  yonder  blooming  train 
To  their  light  courtship  would  an  audience  deign, 
Or  those  chaste  matrons  a  Parisian  wife 
Choose  for  the  mod^l  of  domestic  life ; 
Or  if  one  youth  of  all  that  generous  band, 
The  strength  and  splendour  of  their  native  land, 
Would  yield  his  portion  of  his  country's  fame, 
And  quit  old  freedom's  patrimonial  claim, 
With  lying  smiles  oppression's  pomp  to  see, 
And  judge  of  glory  by  a  king's  decree. 

O  blest  at  home  with  justly-envied  laws, 
O  long  the  chiefs  of  Europe's  general  cause, 
Whom  Heaven  hath  chosen  at  each  dangerous  hour 
To  check  the  inroads  of  barbaric  power, 
The  rights  of  trampled  nations  to  reclaim, 
And  guard  the  social  world  from  bonds  and  shame ; 
O  let  not  luxury's  fantastic  charms 
Thus  give  the  lie  to  your  heroic  arms ; 
Nor  for  the  ornaments  of  life  embrace 
Dishonest  lessons  from  that  vaunting  race, 
Whom  fate's  dread  laws  (for  in  eternal  fate 
Despotic  rule  was  heir  to  freedom's  hate) 
Whom  in  each  warlike,  each  commercial  part, 
In  civil  council,  and  in  pleasing  art, 
The  judge  of  earth  predestin'd  for  your  foes, 
And  made  it  fame  and  virtue  to  oppose. 


BOOK   II.  341 

ODE    II.12 

TO    SLEEP. 


THOU  silent  power,  whose  welcome  sway 
Charms  every  anxious  thought  away ; 
In  whose  divine  oblivion  drown'd, 
Sore  pain  and  weary  toil  grow  mild, 
Love  is  with  kinder  looks  beguil'd, 

And  grief  forgets  her  fondly  cherish'd  wound ; 

O  whither  hast  thou  flown,  indulgent  god  ? 

God  of  kind  shadows  and  of  healing  dews, 

Whom  dost  thou  touch  with  thy  Lethaean  rod  ? 
Around  whose  temples  now  thy  opiate  airs  diffuse  ? 

ii. 

Lo,  Midnight  from  her  starry  reign 
Looks  awful  down  on  earth  and  main. 

"" — ^^"""""i— T"~~  . 

The  tuneful  birds  lie  hush'd  in  sleep, 
With  all  that  crop  the  verdant  food, 
With  all  that  skim  the  crystal  flood, 

Or  haunt  the  caverns  of  the  rocky  steep. 

No  rushing  winds  disturb  the  tufted  bowers ; 

No  wakeful  sound  the  moonlight  valley  knows, 

Save  where  the  brook  its  liquid  murmur  pours, 
And  lulls  the  waving  scene  to  more  profound  repose. 

in. 

O  let  not  me  alone  complain, 
Alone  invoke  thy  power  in  vain  ! 


34:2  ODES. 

Descend,  propitious,  on  my  eyes ; 
Not  from  the  couch  that  bears  a  crown, 
Not  from  the  courtly  statesman's  down, 
Nor  where  the  miser  and  his  treasure  lies : 
Bring  not  the  shapes  that  break  the  murderer's 

rest, 

Nor  those  the  hireling  soldier  loves  to  see, 
Nor  those  which  haunt  the  bigot's  gloomy  breast : 
Far  be  their  guilty  nights,  and  far  their  dreams 
from  me ! 

IV. 

Nor  yet  those  awful  forms  present, 
For  chiefs  and  heroes  only  meant : 
The  figur'd  brass,  the  choral  song, 
The  rescued  people's  glad  applause, 
The  listening  senate,  and  the  laws 
Fix'd  by  the  counsels  of  Timoleon's  *  tongue, 
Are  scenes  too  grand  for  fortune's  private  ways ; 
And  though  they  shine  in  youth's  ingenuous  view, 
The  sober  gainful  arts  of  modern  days 
To  such  romantic  thoughts  have  bid  a  long  adieu. 

v. 

I  ask  not,  god  of  dreams,  thy  care 
To  banish  Love's  presentments  fair  : 
Nor  rosy  cheek  nor  radiant  eye 

*  After  Timoleon  had  delivered  Syracuse  from  the  tyranny 
of  Dionysius,  the  people  on  every  important  deliberation  sent 
for  him  into  the  public  assembly,  asked  his  advice,  and  voted 
according  to  it.  —  Plutarch. 


BOOK  ii.  343 

Can  arm  him  with  such  strong  command 
That  the  young  sorcerer's  fatal  hand 
Should  round  my  soul  his  pleasing  fetters  tie. 
Nor  yet  the  courtier's  hope,  the  giving  smile, 
(A  lighter  phantom,  and  a  baser  chain,) 
Did  e'er  in  slumber  my  proud  lyre  beguile 
To  lend  the  pomp  of  thrones  her  ill-according  strain. 

VI. 

But,  Morpheus,  on  thy  balmy  wing 
Such  honourable  visions  bring 
As  sooth'd  great  Milton's  injur'd  age, 
When  in  prophetic  dreams  he  saw 
The  race  unborn,  with  pious  awe, 
Imbibe  each  virtue  from  his  heavenly  page : 
Or  such  as  Mead's  benignant  fancy  knows, 
When  health's  deep  treasures,  by  his  art  explored, 
Have  sav'd  the  infant  from  an  orphan's  woes, 
Or  to  the  trembling  sire  his  age's  hope  restor'd. 


ODE   III. 

TO     THE     CUCKOO. 
I. 

O  RUSTIC  herald  of  the  Spring, 
At  length  in  yonder  woody  vale 
Fast  by  the  brook  I  hear  thee  sing; 
And,  studious  of  thy  homely  tale, 
Amid  the  vespers  of  the  grove, 
Amid  the  chaunting  choir  of  love, 
Thy  sage  responses  hail. 


344  ODES. 

ii. 

The  time  has  been  when  I  have  frown'd 
To  hear  thy  voice  the  woods  invade ; 
And  while  thy  solemn  accent  drown'd 
Some  sweeter  poet  of  the  shade, 
Thus,  thought  I,  thus  the  sons  of  care 
Some  constant  youth  or  generous  fair 

With  dull  advice  upbraid. 

in. 

I  said,  "  While  Philomela's  song 
Proclaims  the  passion  of  the  grove, 
It  ill  beseems  a  cuckoo's  tongue 
Her  charming  language  to  reprove  "  — 
Alas,  how  much  a  lover's  ear 
Hates  all  the  sober  truth  to  hear, 

The  sober  truth  of  love ! 

IV. 

When  hearts  are  in  each  other  bless'd, 
When  nought  but  lofty  faith  can  rule 
The  nymph's  and  swain's  consenting  breast. 
How  cuckoo-like  in  Cupid's  school, 
With  store  of  grave  prudential  saws 
On  fortune's  power  and  custom's  laws, 
Appears  each  friendly  fool ! 

v. 

Yet  think  betimes,  ye  gentle  train 
Whom  love  and  hope  and  fancy  sway, 
Who  every  harsher  care  disdain, 
Who  by  the  morning  judge  the  day, 
Think  that,  in  April's  fairest  hours, 


BOOK  n.  345 

To  warbling  shades  and  painted  flowers 
The  cuckoo  joins  his  lay. 


ODE  IV. 

TO  THE  HONOURABLE  CHARLES  TOWNSHEND, 
IN  THE  COUNTRY.      1750. 

I.     1. 

How  oft  shall  I  survey 
This  humble  roof,  the  lawn,  the  greenwood  shade, 

The  vale  with  sheaves  o'erspread, 
The  glassy  brook,  the  flocks  which  round  thee  stray  ? 

When  will  thy  cheerful  mind        » 
Of  these  have  utter'd  all  her  dear  esteem  ? 

Or  tell  me,  dost  thou  deem 
No  more  to  join  in  glory's  toilsome  race, 

But  here  content  embrace 
That  happy  leisure  which  thou  hadst  resign'd? 
I.    2. 

Alas !  ye  happy  hours, 
When  books  and  youthful  sport  the  soul  could  share, 

Ere  one  ambitious  care 
Of  civil  life  had  aw'd  her  simpler  powers ; 
»         Oft  as  your  winged  train 
Revisit  here  my  friend  in  white  array, 

O  fail  not  to  display 
Each  fairer  scene  where  I  perchance  had  part, 

That  so  his  generous  heart 
The  abode  of  even  friendship  may  remain. 
z 


346  ODES. 

I.  3. 

For  not  imprudent  of  my  loss  to  come, 
I  saw  from  Contemplation's  quiet  cell 
His  feet  ascending  to  another  home 
Where  public  praise  and  envied  greatness  dwell. 
But  shall  we  therefore,  O  my  lyre, 
Reprove  ambition's  best  desire  ? 

Extinguish  glory's  flame  ? 
Far  other  was  the  task  enjoin'd 
When  to  my  hand  thy  strings  were  first  assign'd : 
Far  other  faith  belongs  to  friendship's  honour'd 
name. 

II.  i. 

Thee,  Townshend,  not  the  arms 
Of  slumbering  Ease,  nor  Pleasure's  rosy  chain, 

Were  destin'd  to  detain : 
No,  nor  bright  Science,  nor  the  Muse's  charms. 

For  them  high  heaven  prepares 
Their  proper  votaries,  an  humbler  band : 

And  ne'er  would  Spenser's  hand 
Have  deign'd  to  strike  the  warbling  Tuscan  shell, 

Nor  Harrington  to  tell 
What  habit  an  immortal  city  wears, 
II.    2. 

Had  this  been  born  to  shield  , 

The  cause  which  Cromwell's  impious  hand  betray'd, 

Or  that,  like  Vere,  display'd 
His  redcross  banner  o'er  the  Belgian  field. 

Yet  where  the  will  divine 
Hath  shut  those  loftiest  paths,  it  next  remains, 

With  reason  clad  in  strains 


BOOK  ii.  347 

» , 
Of  harmony,  selected  minds  to  inspire, 

And  virtue's  living  fire 
To  feed  and  eternize  in  hearts  like  thine. 

II.    3. 

For  never  shall  the  herd,  whom  envy  sways, 
So  quell  my  purpose  or  my  tongue  control, 
That  I  should  fear  illustrious  worth  to  praise, 
Because  its  master's  friendship  mov'd  my  soul. 
Yet,  if  this  undissembling  strain 
Should  now  perhaps  thine  ear  detain 

With  any  pleasing  sound, 
Remember  thou  that  righteous  Fame 
From  hoary  age  a  strict  account  will  claim 
Of  each  auspicious  palm  with  which  thy  youth  was 
crown'd. 

HI.    1. 

Nor  obvious  is  the  way 
Where  heaven  expects  thee,  nor  the  traveller  leads, 

Through  flowers  or  fragrant  meads, 
Or  groves  that  hark  to  Philomela's  lay. 

The  impartial  laws  of  fate 
To  nobler  virtues  wed  severer  cares. 

Is  there  a  man  who  shares 
The  summit  next  where  heavenly  natures  dwell  ? 

Ask  him  (for  he  can  tell) 

What  storms   beat   round   that   rough   laborious 
height. 

HI.    2. 

Ye  heroes,  who  of  old 
Did  generous  England  Freedom's  throne  ordain; 


348  ODES. 

From  Alfred's  parent  reign 
To  Nassau,  great  deliverer,  wise  and  bold ; 

I  know  your  perils  hard, 
Your  wounds,  your  painful  marches,  wintry  seas, 

The  night  estrang'd  from  ease, 
The  day  by  cowardice  and  falsehood  vex'd, 

The  head  with  doubt  perplex'd, 
The  indignant  heart  disdaining  the  reward 

in.    3. 

Which  envy  hardly  grants.     But,  O  renown, 
O  praise  from  judging  heaven  and  virtuous  men, 
If  thus  they  purchas'd  thy  divinest  crown, 
Say,  who  shall  hesitate  ?  or  who  complain  ? 

And  now  they  sit  on  thrones  above : 

And  when  among  the  gods  they  move 
Before  the  Sovereign  Mind, 

"  Lo,  these,"  he  saith,  "  lo,  these  are  they 
Who  to  the  laws  of  mine  eternal  sway 
From  violence  and  fear  asserted  human  kind." 
IV.    l. 

Thus  honour'd  while  the  train 
Of  legislators  in  his  presence  dwell ; 

If  I  may  aught  foretell, 
The  statesman  shall  the  second  palm  obtain. 

For  dreadful  deeds  of  arms 
Let  vulgar  bards,  with  undiscerning  praise, 

More  glittering  trophies  raise : 
But  wisest  Heaven  what  deeds  may  chiefly  move 

To  favour  and  to  love  ? 
What,  save  wide  blessings,  or  averted  harms  ? 


BOOK  ii.  349 

IV.    2. 

Nor  to  the  embattled  field 
Shall  these  achievements  of  the  peaceful  gown, 

The  green  immortal  crown 
Of  valour,  or  the  songs  of  conquest,  yield. 

Not  Fairfax  wildly  bold, 
While  bare  of  crest  he  hew'd  his  fatal  way 

Through  Naseby's  firm  array, 
To  heavier  dangers  did  his  breast  oppose 

Than  Pym's  free  virtue  chose, 
When  the  proud  force  of  Strafford  he  control'd. 

IV.    3. 

But  what  is  man  at  enmity  with  truth  ? 
What  were  the  fruits  of  Wentworth's  copious  mind 
When  (blighted 'all  the  promise  of  his  youth) 
The  patriot  in  a  tyrant's  league  had  join'd  ? 
Let  Ireland's  loud-lamenting  plains, 
Let  Tyne's  and  Humber's  trampled  swains, 

Let  menac'd  London  tell 
How  impious  guile  made  wisdom  base ; 
How  generous  zeal  to  cruel  rage  gave  place  ; 
And  how  unbless'd  he  liv'd,  and  how  dishonour'd 
fell. 

V.    1. 

Thence  never  hath  the  Muse 
Around  his  tomb  Pierian  roses  flung : 

Nor  shall  one  poet's  tongue 
His  name  for  music's  pleasing  labour  choose. 
And  sure,  when  Nature  kind 


350  ODES. 

Hath  deck'd  some  favour'd  breast  above  the  throng, 

That  man  with  grievous  wrong 
Affronts  and  wounds  his  genius,  if  he  bends 

To  guilt's  ignoble  ends 
The  functions  of  his  ill-submitting  mind. 
V.    2. 

For  worthy  of  the  wise 
Nothing  can  seem  but  virtue ;  nor  earth  yield 

Their  fame  an  equal  field, 
Save  where  impartial  Freedom  gives  the  prize. 

There  Somers  fix'd  his  name, 
Inroll'd  the  next  to  William.     There  shall  Time 

To  every  wondering  clime 
Point  out  that  Somers,  who  from  faction's  crowd, 

The  slanderous  and  the  loud, 
Could  fair  assent  and  modest  reverence  claim. 

V.  3. 

Nor  augfit  did  laws  or  social  arts  acquire, 
Nor  this  majestic  weal  of  Albion's  land 
Did  aught  accomplish,  or  to  aught  aspire, 
Without  his  guidance,  his  superior  hand. 
And  rightly  shall  the  Muse's  care 
Wreaths  like  her  own  for  him  prepare, 

Whose  mind's  enamour'd  aim 
Could  forms  of  civil  beauty  draw 
Sublime  as  ever  sage  or  poet  saw, 
Yet  still  to  life's  rude  scene  the  proud  ideas  tame. 

VI.  l. 
Let  none  profane  be  near  ! 

The  Muse  was  never  foreign  to  his  breast : 


BOOK   II.  351 

On  power's  grave  seat  confess'd, 
Still  to  her  voice  he  bent  a  lover's  ear. 

And  if  the  blessed  know 
Their  ancient  cares,  even  now  the  unfading  groves, 

Where  haply  Milton  roves 
With  Spenser,  hear  the  enchanted  echoes  round 

Through  farthest  heaven  resound 
Wise  Somers,  guardian  of  their  fame  below. 

VI.    2. 

He  knew,  the  patriot  knew, 
That  letters  and  the  Muse's  powerful  art 

Exalt  the  ingenuous  heart, 
And  brighten  every  form  of  just  and  true. 

They  lend  a  nobler  sway 
To  civil  wisdom,  than  corruption's  lure 

Could  ever  yet  procure  : 
They^too  from  envy's  pale  malignant  light 

Conduct  her  forth  to  sight 
Cloth'd  in  the  fairest  colours  of  the  day. 

VI.    3. 

O  Townshend,  thus  may  Time,  the  judge  severe, 
Instruct  my  happy  tongue  of  thee  to  tell : 
And  when  I  speak  of  one  to  Freedom  dear 
For  planning  wisely  and  for  acting-  well, 
Of  one  whom  Glory  loves  to  own, 
Who  still  by  liberal  means  alone 

Hath  liberal  ends  pursu'd ; 
Then,  for  the  guerdon  of  my  lay, 
"  This  man  with  faithful  friendship,"  will  I  say, 
"  From  youth  to  honour'd  age  my  arts  and  me  hath 
view'd." 


852  ODES. 


ODE    V. 

ON  LOVE   OP  PRAISE. 
I. 

OF  all  the  springs  within  the  mind 

Which  prompt  her  steps  in  fortune's  maze, 
From  none  more  pleasing  aid  we  find 

Than  from  the  genuine  love  of  praise. 

ii. 
Nor  any  partial,  private  end 

Such  reverence  to  the  public  bears  ; 
Nor  any  passion,  virtue's  friend, 

So  like  to  virtue's  self  appears. 

in. 
For  who  in  glory  can  delight, 

Without  delight  in  glorious  deeds  ? 
What  man  a  charming  voice  can  slight, 

Who  courts  the  echo  that  succeeds  ? 

IV. 

But  not  the  echo  on  the  voice 

More,  than  on  virtue  praise,  depends ; 
To  which,  of  course,  its  real  price 

The  judgment  of  the  praiser  lends. 

v. 
If  praise  then  with  religious  awe 

From  the  sole  perfect  judge  be  sought, 
A  nobler  aim,  a  purer  law, 

Nor  priest,  nor  bard,  nor  sage  hath  taught. 


BOOK  n.  353 


VI. 

With  which  in  character  the  same, 
Though  in  an  humbler  sphere  it  lies, 

I  count  that  soul  of  human  fame, 
The  suffrage  of  the  good  and  wise. 


ODE  VI. 

TO   WILLIAM  HALL,   ESQUIRE  ;     WITH  THE 
WORKS    OF    CHAULIEU. 

I. 

ATTEND  to  Chaulieu's  wanton  lyre ; 
While,  fluent  as  the  sky-lark  sings 
When  first  the  morn  allures  its  wings, 
The  epicure  his  theme  pursues  : 
And  tell  me  if,  among  the  choir 
Whose  music  charms  the  banks  of  Seine, 
So  full,  so  free,  so  rich  a  strain 
E'er  dictated  the  warbling  Muse. 

ii. 

Yet,  Hall,  while  thy  judicious  ear 
Admires  the  well-dissembled  art 
That  can  such  harmony  impart 
To  the  lame  pace  of  Gallic  rhymes ; 
While  wit  from  affectation  clear, 
Bright  images,  and  passions  true, 
Recall  to  thy  assenting  view 
The  envied  bards  of  nobler  times ; 


354  ODES. 

in. 

Say,  is  not  oft  his  doctrine  wrong  ? 
This  priest  of  Pleasure,  who  aspires 
To  lead  us  to  her  sacred  fires, 
Knows  he  the  ritual  of  her  shrine  ? 
Say  (her  sweet  influence  to  thy  song 
So  may  the  goddess  still  afford) 
Doth  she  consent  to  be  ador'd 
With  shameless  love  and  frantic  wine  ? 

IV. 

Nor  Cato  nor  Chrysippus  here 
Need  we  in  high  indignant  phrase 
From  their  Elysian  quiet  raise  ; 
But  Pleasure's  oracle  alone 
Consult ;  attentive,  not  severe. 
O  Pleasure,  we  blaspheme  not  thee  ; 
Nor  emulate  the  rigid  knee 
Which  bends  but  at  the  Stoic  throne. 

v. 

We  own  had  fate  to  man  assign'd 
Nor  sense,  nor  wish  but  what  obey 
Or  Venus  soft  or  Bacchus  gay, 
Then  might  our  bard's  voluptuous  creed 
Most  haply  govern  human  kind ; 
Unless  perchance  what  he  hath  sung 
Of  tortur'd  joints  and  nerves  unstrung, 
Some  wrangling  heretic  should  plead. 

VI. 

But  now  with  all  these  proud  desires 
For  dauntless  truth  and  honest  fame  ; 


BOOK  ii.  355 

With  that  strong  master  of  our  frame, 
The  inexorable  judge  within, 
What  can  be  done  ?     Alas,  ye  fires 
Of  love  ;  alas,  ye  rosy  smiles, 
Ye  nectar'd  cups  from  happier  soils  ! 
Ye  have  no  bribe  his  grace  to  win. 


ODE   VII. 

TO  THE  RIGHT  REVEREND  BENJAMIN  LORD  BISHOP  OF 
WINCHESTER.    1754.13 
I.     1. 

FOR  toils  which  patriots  have  endur'd, 
For  treason  quell'd  and  laws  secur'd, 
In  every  nation  Time  displays 
The  palm  of  honourable  praise. 
Envy  may  rail,  and  Faction  fierce 
May  strive  ;  but  what,  alas !  can  those 
(Though  bold,  yet  blind  and  sordid  foes) 
To  Gratitude  and  Love  oppose, 
To  faithful  story  and  persuasive  verse  ? 

I.     2. 

O  nurse  of  freedom,  Albion,  say, 
Thou  tamer  of  despotic  sway, 
What  man,  among  thy  sons  around, 
Thus  heir  to  glory  hast  thou  found  ? 
What  page,  in  all  thy  annals  bright, 
Hast  thou  with  purer  joy  survey'd 
Than  that  where  truth,  by  Hoadly's  aid, 
Shines  through  imposture's  solemn  shade, 
Through  kingly  and  through  sacerdotal  night  ? 


856  ODES. 

I.    3. 

To  him  the  Teacher  bless'd, 
Who  sent  religion,  from  the  palrny  field 
By  Jordan,  like  the  morn  to  cheer  the  west, 
And  lifted  up  the  veil  which  heaven  from  earth 

conceal'd, 

To  Hoadly  thus  his  mandate  he  address'd : 
"  Go  thou,  and  rescue  my  dishonour'd  law 
From  hands  rapacious  and  from  tongues  im 
pure: 

Let  not  my  peaceful  name  be  made  a  lure 
Fell  persecution's  mortal  snares  to  aid  : 
Let  not  my  words  be  impious  chains  to  draw 
The  freeborn  soul  in  more  than  brutal  awe, 
To  faith  without  assent,  allegiance  unrepaid." 

II.    l. 

No  cold  or  unperforming  hand 
Was  arm'd  by  Heaven  with  this  command. 
The  world  soon  felt  it ;  and,  on  high, 
To  William's  ear  with  welcome  joy 
Did  Locke  among  the  blest  unfold 
The  rising  hope  of  Hoadly's  name  ; 
Godolphin  then  confirm'd  the  fame ; 
And  Somers,  when  from  earth  he  came, 
And  generous  Stanhope  the  fair  sequel  told. 

II.    2. 

Then  drew  the  lawgivers  around, 
(Sires  of  the  Grecian  name  renown'd) 
And  listening  ask'd,  and  wondering  knew, 
What  private  force  could  thus  subdue 


BOOK  ii.  357 

The  vulgar  and  the  great  combined ; 
Could  war  with  sacred  folly  wage ; 
Could  a  whole  nation  disengage 
From  the  dread  bonds  of  many  an  age, 
And  to  new  habits  mould  the  public  mind. 

n.   3. 

For  not  a  conqueror's  sword, 
Nor  the  strong  powers  to  civil  founders  known, 
Were  his ;  but  truth  by  faithful  search  explor'd, 

And  social  sense,  like  seed,  in  genial  plenty  sown. 
Wherever  it  took  root,  the  soul  (restor'd 
To  freedom)  freedom  too  for  others  sought. 
Not  mcnkish  craft  the  tyrant's  claim  divine, 
Not  regal  zeal  the  bigot's  cruel  shrine, 
Could  longer  guard  from  reason's  warfare  sage ; 
Not  the  wild  rabble  to  sedition  wrought, 
Nor  synods  by  the  papal  Genius  taught, 

Nor  St.  John's  spirit  loose,  nor  Atterbury's  rage. 

m.    1. 

But  where  shall  recompense  be  found  ? 
Or  how  such  arduous  merit  crown'd  ? 
For  look  on  life's  laborious  scene : 
What  rugged  spaces  lie  between 
Adventurous  Virtue's  early  toils 
And  her  triumphal  throne !     The  shade 
Of  death,  meantime,  does  oft  invade 
Her  progress ;  nor,  to  us  display'd, 
Wears  the  bright  heroine  her  expected  spoils. 


858  .  ODES. 

m.  2. 

Yet  born  to  conquer  is  her  power : 
O  Hoadly,  if  that  favourite  hour 
On  earth  arrive,  with  thankful  awe 
We  own  just  Heaven's  indulgent  law, 
And  proudly  thy  success  behold  ; 
We  attend  thy  reverend  length  of  days 
With  benediction  and  with  praise, 
And  hail  thee  in  our  public  ways 
Like  some  great  spirit  fam'd  in  ages  old. 

m.    3. 

While  thus  our  vows  prolong 
Thy  steps  on  earth,  and  when  by  us  resigned 
Thou  join'st  thy  seniors,  that  heroic  throng 
Who  rescu'd  or  preserv'd  the  rights  of  human  kind, 

O  !  not  unworthy  may  thy  Albion's  tongue 
Thee  still,  her  friend  and  benefactor,  name : 
O  !  never,  Hoadly,  in  thy  country's  eyes, 
May  impious  gold,  or  pleasure's  gaudy  prize, 
Make  public  virtue,  public  freedom,  vile ; 
Nor  our  own  manners  tempt  us  to  disclaim 
That  heritage,  our  noblest  wealth  and  fame, 
Which  thou  hast  kept  entire  from  force  and  fac 
tious  guile. 


BOOK   II. 

ODE  VIII.14 

i. 

IP  rightly  tuneful  bards  decide, 

If  it  be  fix'd  in  Love's  decrees, 
That  Beauty  ought  not  to  be  tried 

But  by  its  native  power  to  please, 
Then  tell  me,  youths  and  lovers,  tell, 
"What  fair  can  Amoret  excel  ? 

ii. 
Behold  that  bright  unsullied  smile, 

And  wisdom  speaking  in  her  mien : 
Yet  (she  so  artless  all  the  while, 

So  little  studious  to  be  seen) 
We  nought  but  instant  gladness  know, 
Nor  think  to  whom  the  gift  we  owe. 

in. 
But  neither  music,  nor  the  powers 

Of  youth  and  mirth  and  frolic  cheer, 
Add  half  that  sunshine  to  the  hours, 

Or  make  life's  prospect  half  so  clear, 
As  memory  brings  it  to  the  eye 
From  scenes  where  Amoret  was  by. 

IV. 

Yet  not  a  satirist  could  there 
Or  fault  or  indiscretion  find ; 

Nor  any  prouder  sage  declare 
One  virtue,  pictur'd  in  his  mind, 

Whose  form  with  lovelier  colours  glows 

Than  Amoret's  demeanor  shows. 


360  ODES. 

Y. 

This  sure  is  Beauty's  happiest  part : 
This  gives  the  most  unbounded  sway : 

This  shall  enchant  the  subject  heart 
When  rose  and  lily  fade  away ; 

And  she  be  still,  in  spite  of  time, 

Sweet  Amoret  in  all  her  prime. 


ODE    IX. 

AT   STUDY. 
I. 

WHITHER  did  my  fancy  stray  ? 
By  what  magic  drawn  away 

Have  I  left  my  studious  theme  ? 
From  this  philosophic  page, 
From  the  problems  of  the  sage, 

Wandering  through  a  pleasing  dream  ? 

ii. 

'Tis  in  vain,  alas  !  I  find, 
Much  in  vain,  my  zealous  mind 

Would  to  learned  Wisdom's  throne 
Dedicate  each  thoughtful  hour : 
Nature  bids  a  softer  power 

Claim  some  minutes  for  his  own. 

in. 

Let  the  busy  or  the  wise 
View  him  with  contemptuous  eyes  ; 

Love  is  native  to  the  heart : 


BOOK   II.  361 

Guide  its  wishes  as  you  will, 
Without  Love  you'll  find  it  still 
Void  in  one  essential  part. 

IV. 

Me  though  no  peculiar  fair 
Touches  with  a  lover's  care  ; 

Though  the  pride  of  my  desire 
Asks  immortal  friendship's  name, 
Asks  the  palm  of  honest  fame, 

And  the  old  heroic  lyre  ; 

v. 

Though  the  day  have  smoothly  gone, 
Or  to  letter'd  leisure  known, 

Or  in  social  duty  spent ; 
Yet  at  eve  my  lonely  breast 
Seeks  in  vain  for  perfect  rest ; 

Languishes  for  true  content. 


0DE   X. 

TO  THOMAS   EDWARDS,   ESQ.:    ON  THE   LATE   EDITION  OF 
MR.  POPE'S  WORKS.    1751.15 
I. 

BELIEVE  me,  Edwards,  to  restrain 
The  license  of  a  railer's  tongue 
Is  what  but  seldom  men  obtain 
By  sense  or  wit,  by  prose  or  song ; 
A  task  for  more  Herculean  powers, 
Nor  suited  to  the  sacred  hours 
Of  leisure  in  the  Muse's  bowers. 
2  A 


362  ODES. 

ii. 

In  bowers  where  laurel  weds  with  palm, 
The  Muse,  the  blameless  queen,  resides : 
Fair  Fame  attends,  and  Wisdom  calm 
Her  eloquence  harmonious  guides  : 
"While,  shut  for  ever  from  her  gate, 
Oft  trying,  still  repining,  wait 
Fierce  Envy  and  calumnious  Hate. 

in. 

Who  then  from  her  delightful  bounds 
Would  step  one  moment  forth  to  heed 
What  impotent  and  savage  sounds 
From  their  unhappy  mouths  proceed  ? 
No  :  rather  Spenser's  lyre  again 
Prepare,  and  let  thy  pious  strain 
For  Pope's  dishonour'd  shade  complain. 

IV. 

Tell  how  displeas'd  was'every  bard, 
When  lately  in  the  Elysian  grove 
They  of  his  Muse's  guaidian  heard, 
His  delegate  to  fame  above ; 
And  what  with  one  accord  they  said 
Of  wit  in  drooping  age  misled, 
And  Warburton's  officious  aid  : 

v. 

How  Virgil  mourn'd  the  sordid  fate 
To  that  melodious  lyre  assign'd 
Beneath  a  tutor  who  so  late 
With  Midas  and  his  rout  combin'd 


BOOK  ii.  363 

By  spiteful  clamour  to  confound 
That  very  lyre's  enchanting  sound, 
Though  listening  realms  admir'd  around : 

VI. 

How  Horace  own'd  he  thought  the  fire 
Of  his  friend  Pope's  satiric  line 
Did  farther  fuel  scarce  require 
From  such  a  militant  divine  : 
How  Milton  scorn'd  the  sophist  vain 
Who  durst  approach  his  hallow'd  strain 
With  unwash'd  hands  and  lips  profane. 

VII. 

Then  Shakespeare  debonair  and  mild 
Brought  that  strange  comment  forth  to  view ; 
Conceits  more  deep,  he  said  and  smil'd, 
Than  his  own  fools  or  madmen  knew  : 
But  thank'd  a  generous  friend  above, 
Who  did  with  free  adventurous  love 
Such  pageants  from  his  tomb  remove. 

VIII. 

And  if  to  Pope,  in  equal  need, 
The  same  kind  office  thou  wouldst  pay, 
Then,  Edwards,  all  the  band  decreed 
That  future  bards  with  frequent  lay 
Should  call  on  thy  auspicious  name, 
From  each  absurd  intruder's  claim 
To  keep  inviolate  their  fame. 


864  ODES. 


ODE  XL 

TO  THE  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN  OF  ENGLAND.  1758.16 
I. 

WHITHER  is  Europe's  ancient  spirit  fled  ? 
"Where  are  those  valiant  tenants  of  her  shore, 
Who  from  the  warrior  bow  the  strong  dart  sped, 
Or  with  firm  hand  the  rapid  pole-axe  bore  ? 
Freeman  and  Soldier  was  their  common  name. 
Who  late  with  reapers  to  the  furrow  came, 
Now  in  the  front  of  battle  charg'd  the  foe  ; 
Who  taught  the  steer  the  wintry  plough  to  endure, 
Now  in  full  councils  check'd  encroaching  power, 

And  gave  the  guardian  Laws  their  majesty  to  know. 

ii. 

But  who  are  ye  ?  from  Ebro's  loitering  sons 
To  Tiber's  pageants,  to  the  sports  of  Seine ; 
From  Rhine's  frail  palaces  to  Danube's  thrones 
And  cities  looking  on  the  Cimbric  main, 
Ye  lost,  ye  self-deserted  ?  whose  proud  lords 
Have  baffled  your  tame  hands,  and  given  your 

swords 

To  slavish  ruffians,  hir'd  for  their  command : 
These  at  some  greedy  monk's  or  harlot's  nod : 
See  rifled  nations  crouch  beneath  their  rod  : 

These  are  the  Public  Will,  the  Reason  of  the  land. 

in. 

Thou,  heedless  Albion,  what,  alas !  the  while 
Dost  thou  presume  ?     O  inexpert  in  arms, 


BOOK  n.  365 

Yet  vain  of  Freedom,  how  dost  thou  beguile, 
With  dreams  of  hope,  these  near  and  loud  alarms  ? 
Thy  splendid  home,  thy  plan  of  laws  renown'd, 
The  praise  and  envy  of  the  nations  round, 
What  care  hast  thou  to  guard  from  Fortune's 

sway? 

Amid  the  storms  of  war,  how  soon  may  all 
The  lofty  pile  from  its  foundations  fall, 
Of  ages  the  proud  toil,  the  ruin  of  a  day ! 

IV. 

No  :  thou  art  rich,  thy  streams  and  fertile  vales 
Add  Industry's  wise  gifts  to  Nature's  store ; 
And  every  port  is  crowded  with  thy  sails, 
And  every  wave  throws  treasure  on  thy  shore. 
What  boots  it  ?     If  luxurious  Plenty  charm 
Thy  selfish  heart  from  Glory,  if  thy  arm 
Shrink  at  the  frowns  of  Danger  and  of  Pain, 
Those  gifts,  that  treasure  is  no  longer  thine. 
O  rather  far  be  poor !     Thy  gold  will  shine 
Tempting  the  eye  of  Force,  and  deck  thee  to  thy 
bane. 

v. 

But  what  hath  Force  or  War  to  do  with  thee  ? 
Girt  by  the  azure  tide  and  thron'd  sublime 
Amid  thy  floating  bulwarks,  thou  ca"nst  see, 
With  scorn,  the  fury  of  each  hostile  clime 
Dash'd  ere  it  reach  thee.     Sacred  from  the  foe 
Are  thy  fair  fields  :  athwart  thy  guardian  prow 
No  bold  invader's  foot  shall  tempt  the  strand  — 
Yet  say,  my  country,  will  the  waves  and  wind 


366  ODES. 

Obey  thee  ?     Hast  thou  all  thy  hopes  resign'd 
To  the  sky's  fickle  faith  ?  the  pilot's  wavering  hand  ? 

VI. 

For  O  may  neither  Fear  nor  stronger  Love 
(Love,  by  thy  virtuous  princes  nobly  won) 
Thee,  last  of  many  wretched  nations,  move, 
With  mighty  armies  station'd  round  the  throne 
To  trust  thy  safety.     Then,  farewell  the  claims 
Of  Freedom !     Her  proud  records  to  the  flames 
Then  bear,  an  offering  at  Ambition's  shrine  ; 
Whate'er  thy  ancient  patriots  dar'd  demand 
From  furious  John's,  or  faithless  Charles's  hand, 
Or  what  great  William  seal'd  for  his  adopted  line. 

VII. 

But  if  thy  sons  be  worthy  of  their  name, 
If  liberal  laws  with  liberal  arts  they  prize, 
Let  them  from  conquest,  and  from  servile  shame 
In  War's  glad  school  their  own  protectors  rise. 
Ye  chiefly,  heirs  of  Albion's  cultur'd  plains, 
Ye  leaders  of  her  bold  and  faithful  swains, 
Now  not  unequal  to  your  birth  be  found  : 
The  public  voice  bids  arm  your  rural  state, 
Paternal  hamlets  for  your  ensigns  wait, 
And  grange  and  fold  prepare  to  pour  their  youth 
around. 

VIII. 

Why  are  ye  tardy  ?  what  inglorious  care 
Detains  you  from  their  head,  your  native  post  ? 
Who  most  their  country's  fame  and  fortune  share, 
'Tis  theirs  to  share  her  toils,  her  perils  most. 


BOOK  ii.  367 

Each  man  his  task  in  social  life  sustains. 
With  partial  labours,  with  domestic  gains 
Let  others  dwell :  to  you  indulgent  Heaven 
By  counsel  and  by  arms  the  public  cause 
To  serve  for  public  love  and  love's  applause, 
The  first  employment  far,  the  noblest  hire,  hath 
given. 

IX. 

Have  ye  not  heard  of  Lacedaemon's  fame  ? 
Of  Attic  chiefs  in  Freedom's  war  divine  ? 
Of  Rome's  dread  generals  ?  the  Valerian  name  ? 
The  Fabian  sons  ?  the  Scipios,  matchless  line  ? 
Your  lot  was  theirs :  the  farmer  and  the  swain 
Met  his  lov'd  patron's  summons  from  the  plain ; 
The  legions  gather'd ;  the  bright  eagles  flew : 
Barbarian  monarchs  in  the  triumph  mourn'd  ; 
The  conquerors  to  their  household  gods  return'd, 

And  fed  Calabrian  flocks,  and  steer'd  the  Sabine 
plough. 

x. 

Shall  then  this  glory  of  the  antique  age, 
This  pride  of  men,  be  lost  among  mankind  ? 
Shall  war's  heroic  arts  no  more  engage 
The  unbought  hand,  the  unsubjected  mind  ? 
Doth  valour  to  the  race  no  more  belong  ? 
No  more  with  scorn  of  violence  and  wrong 
Doth  forming  Nature  now  her  sons  inspire, 
That,  like  some  mystery  to  few  reveal'd, 
The  skill  of  arms  abash'd  and  aw'd  they  yield, 

And  from  their  own  defence  with  hopeless  hearts 
retire  ? 


ODES. 

XI. 

O  shame  to  human  life,  to  human  laws  ! 
The  loose  adventurer,  hireling  of  a  day, 
Who  his  fell  sword  without  affection  draws, 
"Whose  God,  whose  country,  is  a  tyrant's  pay, 
This  man  the  lessons  of  the  field  can  learn ; 
Can  every  palm,  which  decks  a  warrior,  earn, 
And  every  pledge  of  conquest :  while  in  vain, 
To  guard  your  altars,  your  paternal  lands, 
Are  social  arms  held  out  to  your  free  hands  : 
Too  arduous  is  the  lore ;  too  irksome  were  the  pain. 

XII. 

Meantime  by  Pleasure's  lying  tales  allur'd, 
From  the  bright  sun  and  living  breeze  ye  stray ; 
And  deep  in  London's  gloomy  haunts  immur'd, 
Brood  o'er  your  fortune's,  freedom's,  health's 

decay. 

O  blind  of  choice  and  to  yourselves  untrue ! 
The  young  grove  shoots,  their  bloom  the  fields 

renew, 

The  mansion  asks  its  lord,  the  swains  their  friend ; 
While  he  doth  riot's  orgies  haply  share, 
Or  tempt  the  gamester's  dark,  destroying  snare, 
Or  at  some  courtly  shrine  with   slavish  incense 

bend. 

XIII. 

And  yet  full  oft  your  anxious  tongues  complain 
That  lawless  tumult  prompts  the  rustic  throng ; 
That  the  rude  village-inmates  now  disdain 
Those  homely  ties  which  rul'd  their  fathers  long. 


BOOK  ii.  369 

Alas !  your  fathers  did  by  other  arts 
Draw  those  kind  ties  around  their  simple  hearts, 
And  led  in  other  paths  their  ductile  will ; 
By  succour,  faithful  counsel,  courteous  cheer, 
Won  them  the  ancient  manners  to  revere, 
To  prize  their  country's  peace,  and  heaven's  due 
rites  fulfil. 

XIV. 

But  mark  the  judgment  of  experienc'd  Time, 
Tutor  of  nations.     Doth  light  discord  tear 
A  state  ?  and  impotent  sedition's  crime  ? 
The  powers  of  warlike  prudence  dwell  not  there ; 
The  powers  who  to  command  and  to  obey, 
Instruct  the  valiant.     There  would  civil  sway 
The  rising  race  to  manly  concord  tame  ? 
Oft  let  the  marshaPd  field  their  steps  unite, 
And  in  glad  splendour  bring  before  their  sight 
One  common  cause  and  one  hereditary  fame. 

xv. 

Nor  yet  be  aw'd,  nor  yet  your  task  disown, 
Though  war's  proud  votaries  look  on  severe ; 
•  Though  secrets,  taught  erewhile  to  them  alone, 
They  deem  profan'd  by  your  intruding  ear. 
Let  them  in  vain,  your  martial  hope  to  quell, 
Of  new  refinements,  fiercer  weapons  tell, 
And  mock  the  old  simplicity,  in  vain : 
To  the  time's  warfare,  simple  or  refin'd, 
The  time  itself  adapts  the  warrior's  mind ; 
And  equal  prowess  still  shall  equal  palms  obtain. 


372  t  ODES. 

Meet  thee  beneath  yon  chestnut  bower, 
And  lenient  on  thy  bosom  pour  [skies." 

That  indolence  divine  which  lulls  the  earth  and 

IV. 

The  goddess  promis'd  not  in  vain. 
I  found  her  at  my  favourite  time  ; 
Nor  wish'd  to  breathe  in  any  softer  clime, 
While  (half-reclin'd,  half-slumberiifg  as  I  lay) 
She  hover'd  o'er  me.     Then,  among  her  train 
Of  Nymphs  and  Zephyrs,  to  my  view 
Thy  gracious  form  appear'd  anew,  [day. 

Then  first,  O  heavenly  Muse,  unseen  for  many  a 

v. 

In  that  soft  pomp  the  tuneful  maid 
Shone  like  the  golden  star  of  love. 
I  saw  her  hand  in  careless  measures  move ; 
I  heard  sweet  preludes  dancing  on  her  lyre,  - 
While  my  whole  frame  the  sacred  sound  obey'd. 
New  sunshine  o'er  my  fancy  springs, 
New  colours  clothe  external  things, 
And  the  last  glooms  of  pain  and  sickly  plaint  retire. 

VI. 

O  Goulder's  Hill,  by  thee  restor'd 

Once  more  to  this  enliven'd  hand, 
My  harp,  which  late  resounded  o'er  the  land 
The  voice  of  glory,  solemn  and  severe, 
My  Dorian  harp  shall  now  with  mild  accord 

To  thee  her  joyful  tribute  pay, 

And  send  a  less-ambitious  lay 
Of  friendship  and  of  love  to  greet  thy  master's  ear 


BOOK  ii.  373 

VII. 

For  when  within  thy  shady  seat 
First  from  the  sultry  town  he  chose, 
And  the  tir'd  senate's  cares,  his  wish'd  repose, 
Then  wast  thou  mine ;  to  me  a  happier  home 
For  social  leisure ;  where  my  welcome  feet, 
Estrang'd  from  all  the  entangling  ways 
In  which  the  restless  vulgar  strays, 
Through  Nature's  simple  paths  with  ancient  Faith 
might  roam. 

VIII. 

And  while  around  his  sylvan  scene 

My  Dyson  led  the  white-wing'd  hours, 
Oft  from  the  Athenian  academic  bowers 
Their  sages  came ;  oft  heard  our  lingering  walk 
The  Mantuan  music  warbling  o'er  the  green ; 

And  oft  did  Tully's  reverend  shade, 

Though  much  for  liberty  afraid, 
With  us  of  letter'd  ease  or  virtuous  glory  talk. 

IX. 

But  other  guests  were  on  their  way, 
And  reach'd  ere  long  this  favour'd  grove ; 
Even  the  celestial  progeny  of  Jove, 
Bright  Venus,  with  her  all-subduing  son, 
Whose  golden  shaft  most  willingly  obey 
The  best  and  wisest.     As  they  came, 
Glad  Hymen  wav'd  his  genial  flame, 
And  sang  their  happy  gifts,  and  prais'd  their  spot 
less  throne. 


374  ODES. 

x. 

I  saw  when  through  yon  festive  gate 
He  led  along  his  chosen  maid, 
And  to  my  friend  with  smiles  presenting  said, 
"  Receive  that  fairest  wealth  which  Heaven  as- 

sign'd 

To  human  fortune.     Did  thy  lonely  state 
One  wish,  one  utmost  hope  confess  ? 
Behold,  she  comes  to  adorn  and  bless ; 
Comes,  worthy  of  thy  heart,  and  equal  to  thy  mind." 


ODE   XIII. 

TO    THE    AUTHOR    OF    MEMOIRS    OP    THE    HOUSE 

OP    BRANDENBURGH.      1751. 

I. 

THE  men  renown'd  as  chiefs  of  human  race, 
And  born  to  lead  in  counsels  or  in  arms, 
Have  seldom  turn'd  their  feet  from  glory's  chace 
To  dwell  with  books  or  court  the  Muse's  charms. 
Yet,  to  our  eyes  if  haply  time  hath  brought 
Some  genuine  transcript  of  their  calmer  thought, 
There  still  we  own  the  wise,  the  great,  or  good ; 
And  Caesar  there  and  Xenophon  are  seen, 
As  clear  in  spirit  and  sublime  of  mien, 
As  on  Pharsalian  plains,  or  by  the  Assyrian  flood. 

ii. 

Say  thou  too,  Frederic,  was  not  this  thy  aim  ? 
Thy  vigils  could  the  student's  lamp  engage, 


BOOK  ii.  375 

Except  for  this  ?  except  that  future  Fame 
Might  read  thy  genius  in  the  faithful  page  ? 
That  if  hereafter  Envy  shall  presume 
With  words  irreverent  to  inscribe  thy  tomb, 
And  baser  weeds  upon  thy  palms  to  fling, 
That  hence  posterity  may  try  thy  reign, 
Assert  thy  treaties,  and  thy  wars  explain, 
And  view  in  native  lights  the  hero  and  the  king. 

in. 

O  evil  foresight  and  pernicious  care ! 
Wilt  thou  indeed  abide  by  this  appeal  ? 
Shall  we  the  lessons  of  thy  pen  compare 
With  private  honour  or  with  public  zeal  ? 
Whence   then  at  things  divine .  those  darts  of 

scorn ! 
Why  are  the  woes,  which  virtuous  men  have 

borne 

For  sacred  truth,  a  prey  to  laughter  given  ? 
What  fiend,  what  foe  of  Nature,  urg'd  thy  arm 
The  Almighty  of  his  sceptre  to  disarm  ? 
To  push  this  earth  adrift,  and  leave  it  loose  from 

heaven  ? 

IV. 

Ye  godlike  shades  of  legislators  old, 

Ye  who  made  Rome  victorious,  Athens  wise, 

Ye  first  of  mortals  with  the  bless'd  enroll'd, 

Say  did  not  horror  in  your  bosoms  rise, 

When  thus  by  impious  vanity  impell'd 

A  magistrate,  a  monarch,  ye  beheld 


376  ODES. 

Affronting  civil  order's  holiest  bands  ? 
Those  bands  which  ye  so  labour'd  to  improve? 
Those  hopes  and  fears  of  justice  from  above, 
Which  tam'd  the   savage  world   to   your   divine 
commands  ? 


ODE   XIV. 

THE      COMPLAINT. 
I. 

AWAY  !  away  ! 
Tempt  me  no  more,  insidious  love : 

Thy  soothing  sway 
Long  did  my  youthful  bosom  prove  : 
At  length  thy  treason  is  discern'd, 
At  length  some  dear-bought  caution  earn'd : 
Away  !  nor  hope  my  riper  age  to  move, 
ii. 

I  know,  I  see 
Her  merit.     Needs  it  now  be  shown, 

Alas,  to  me  ? 

How  often,  to  myself  unknown, 
The  graceful,  gentle,  virtuous  maid 
Have  I  admir'd  !     How  often  said, 
What  joy  to  call  a  heart  like  hers  one's  own ! 
in. 

But,  flattering  god, 
O  squanderer  of  content  and  ease, 

In  thy  abode 
Will  care's  rude  lesson  learn  to  please  ? 


BOOK  ii.  377 

O  say,  deceiver,  hast  thou  won 
Proud  Fortune  to  attend  thy  throne, 
Or  plac'd  thy  friends  above  her  stern  decrees  ? 


ODE   XV. 

ON   DOMESTIC    MANNERS. 

(UNFINISHED.) 
I. 

MEEK  Honour,  female  shame, 
O!  whither,  sweetest  offspring  of  the  sky, 

From  Albion  dost  thou  fly  ; 
Of  Albion's  daughters  once  the  favourite  fame  ? 

0  beauty's  only  friend, 
Who  giv'st  her  pleasing  reverence  to  inspire ; 

Who  selfish,  bold  desire 
Dost  to  esteem  and  dear  affection  turn ; 

Alas  !  of  thee  forlorn 

What  joy,  what  praise,  what  hope  can  life  pretend  ? 
ii. 

Behold  ;  our  youths  in  vain 
Concerning  nuptial  happiness  inquire : 

Our  maids  no  more  aspire 
The  arts  of  bashful  Hymen  to  attain  ; 

But  with  triumphant  eyes 
And  cheeks  impassive,  as  they  move  along, 

Ask  homage  of  the  throng. 
The  lover  swears  that  in  a  harlot's  arms 

Are  found  the  self-same  charms, 
And  worthless  and  deserted  lives  and  dies. 

2  B 


376  ODES. 

Affronting  civil  order's  holiest  bands  ? 
Those  bands  which  ye  so  labour'd  to  improve  ? 
Those  hopes  and  fears  of  justice  from  above, 
Which,  tam'd  the   savage  world   to   your   divine 
commands  ? 


ODE   XIV. 

THE      COMPLAINT. 
I. 

AWAY  !  away  ! 
Tempt  me  no  more,  insidious  love : 

Thy  soothing  sway 
Long  did  my  youthful  bosom  prove : 
At  length  thy  treason  is  discern'd, 
At  length  some  dear-bought  caution  earn'd 
Away  !  nor  hope  my  riper  age  to  move. 

ii. 

I  know,  I  see 
Her  merit.     Needs  it  now  be  shown, 

Alas,  to  me  ? 

_  How  often,  to  myself  unknown, 
The  graceful,  gentle,  virtuous  maid 
Have  I  admir'd  !     How  often  said, 
What  joy  to  call  a  heart  like  hers  one's  own ! 

in. 

But,  flattering  god, 
0  squanderer  of  content  and  ease, 

In  thy  abode 
Will  care's  rude  lesson  learn  to  please  ? 


BOOK  ii.  377 

O  say,  deceiver,  hast  thou  won 
Proud  Fortune  to  attend  thy  throne, 
Or  plac'd  thy  friends  above  her  stern  decrees  ? 


ODE   XV. 

ON   DOMESTIC    MANNERS. 

(UNFINISHED.) 

I. 

MEEK  Honour,  female  shame, 
O!  whither,  sweetest  offspring  of  the  sky, 

From  Albion  dost  thou  fly  ; 
Of  Albion's  daughters  once  the  favourite  fame  ? 

O  beauty's  only  friend, 
Who  giv'st  her  pleasing  reverence  to  inspire ; 

Who  selfish,  bold  desire 
Dost  to  esteem  and  dear  affection  turn ; 

Alas  !  of  thee  forlorn 

What  joy,  what  praise,  what  hope  can  life  pretend  ? 
ii. 

Behold  ;  our  youths  in  vain 
Concerning  nuptial  happiness  inquire : 

Our  maids  no  more  aspire 
The  arts  of  bashful  Hymen  to  attain  ; 

But  with  triumphant  eyes 
And  cheeks  impassive,  as  they  move  along, 

Ask  homage  of  the  throng. 
The  lover  swears  that  in  a  harlot's  arms 

Are  found  the  self-same  charms, 
And  worthless  and  deserted  lives  and  dies. 


378  ODES. 

in. 

Behold  ;  unbless'd  at  home, 
The  father  of  the  cheerless  household  mourns  : 

The  night  in  vain  returns, 
For  Love  and  glad  Content  at  distance  roam ; 

While  she,  in  whqm  his  mind 
Seeks  refuge  from  the  day's  dull  task  of  cares, 

To  meet  him  she  prepares, 
Thro'  noise  and  spleen  and  all  the  gamester's  art, 

A  listless,  harass'd  heart, 
Where  not  one  tender  thought  can  welcome  find. 

IV. 

'Twas  thus,  along  the  shore 
Of  Thames,  Britannia's  guardian  Genius  heard, 

From  many  a  tongue  preferr'd, 
Of  strife  and  grief  the  fond  invective  lore  ; 

At  which  the  queen  divine 
Indignant,  with  her  adamantine  spear 

Like  thunder  sounding  near, 
Smote  the  red  cross  upon  her  silver  shield, 

And  thus  her  wrath  reveal'd. 
(I  watch'd  her  awful  words,  and  made  them  mine.) 
*  *  *  * 


379 


NOTES  ON  THE  TWO  BOOKS  OF  ODES. 


B.  i.  Ode  xviii.  Stanza  ii.  2].  Lycurgus,  the  Lacedaemonian 
lawgiver,  brought  into  Greece  from  Asia  Minor  the  first  com 
plete  copy  of  Homer's  works.  At  Platsea  was  fought  the 
decisive  battle  between  the  Persian  army  and  the  united 
militia  of  Greece  under  Pausanias  and  Aristides.  —  Cimon  the 
Athenian  erected  a  trophy  in  Cyprus  for  two  great  victories 
gained  on  the  same  day  over  the  Persians  by  sea  and  land. 
Diodorus  Siculus  has  preserved  the  inscription  which  the 
Athenians  affixed  to  the  consecrated  spoils,  after  this  great 
success ;  in  which  it  is  very  remarkable  that  the  greatness  of 
the  occasion  has  raised  the  manner  of  expression  above  the 
usual  simplicity  and  modesty  of  all  other  ancient  inscriptions. 
It  is  this :  — 

E3.     OY.     F.    EYPailHN.    AS  IAS.    AIXA.     IIONTOS. 

ENEIME. 

KAI.  IIOAEAS.  ONHTQN.  OOYPOS.  APHS.  EHEXEI. 
OYAEN.   na.   TOIOYTON.   EIIIX0ONK2N.   TENET'. 

ANAPftN. 

EPPON.  EN.  HIIEIPai.  KAI.  KATA.  IJONTON.  AMA. 
OIAE.  TAP.  EN    KYIlPm.  MHAOYS.  IIOAAOYS.  OAE- 

SANTES. 

*OINIKaN.  EKATON.  NAYS.  EAON.    EN.  nEAAFEI. 
ANAPBN.  IIAH0OYSA2.   MEFA.  A'.   ESTENEN.  ASI2. 

YH'.  AYTS2N. 

1IAHFEIS'.  AM4>OTEPAIS.  XEPSI.   KPATEI.   HOAE- 
MOY.  [Diod.  1.  xi,  62.] 

The  following  translation  is  almost  literal:  — 

Since  first  the  sea  from  Asia's  hostile  coast 
Divided  Europe,  and  the  god  of  war 
Assail'd  imperious  cities;  never  yet, 
At  once  among  the  waves  and  on  the  shore, 
Hath  such  a  labour  been  achieved  by  men 
Who  earth  inhabit.     They,  whose  arms  the  Medea 
In  Cyprus  felt  pernicious,  they,  the  same, 
Have  won  from  skilful  Tyre  an  hundred  ships 
Crowded  with  warriors.    Asia  groans,  in  both 
Her  hands  sore  smitten,  by  the  might  of  war. 


380  NOTES    TO    THE    ODES. 

Stanza  li.  3.]  Pindar  was  cotemporary  with  Aristides  and 
Cimon,  in  whom  the  glory  of  ancient  Greece  was  at  its  height. 
When  Xerxes  invaded  Greece,  Pindar  was  true  to  the  common 
interest  of  his  country ;  though  his  fellow-citizens,  the  Thebans, 
had  sold  themselves  to  the  Persian  king.  In  one  of  his  odes 
he  expresses  the  great  distress  and  anxiety  of  his  mind,  occa 
sioned  'by  the  vast  preparations  of  Xerxes  against  Greece, 
(Istltm.  8.)  In  another  he  celebrates  the  victories  of  Salamis. 
Plataea,  and  Himera.  (Pyth.  1.)  It  will  be  necessary  to  add 
two  or  three  other  particulars  of  his  life,  real  or  fabulous,  in 
order  to  explain  what  follows  in  the  text  concerning  him.  First, 
then,  he  was  thought  to  be  so  great  a  favourite  of  Apollo,  that 
the  priests  of  that  deity  allotted  him  a  constant  share  of  their 
offerings.  It  was  said  of  him,  as  of  some  other  illustrious  men, 
that  at  his  birth  a  swarm  of  bees  lighted  on  his  lips,  and  led 
him  with  their  honey.  It  was  also  a  tradition  concerning  him, 
that  Pan  was  heard  to  recite  his  poetry,  and  seen  dancing  to 
one  of  his  hymns  on  the  mountains  near  Thebes.  But  a  real 
historical  fact  in  his  life  is,  that  the  Thebans  imposed  a  large 
fine  upon  him  on  account  of  the  veneration  which  he  expressed 
in  his  poems  for  that  heroic  spirit,  shown  by  the  people  of 
Athens  in  defence  of  the  common  liberty,  which  his  own 
fellow-citizens  had  shamefully  betrayed.  And,  as  the  argument 
of  this  ode  implies,  that  great  poetical  talents  and  high  senti 
ments  of  liberty  do  reciprocally  produce  and  assist  each  other, 
so  Pindar  is  perhaps  the  most  exemplary  proof  of  this  connec 
tion,  which  occurs  in  history.  The  Thebans  were  remarkable, 
in  general,  for  a  slavish  disposition  through  all  the  fortunes 
of  their  commonwealth:  at  the  time  of  its  ruin  by  Philip; 
and  even  in  its  best  state,  under  the  administration  of  Pelopidas 
and  Epaminondas :  and  every  one  knows,  they  were  no  less 
remarkable  for  great  dulness,  and  want  of  all  genius.  That 
Pindar  should  have  equally  distinguished  himself  from  the 
rest  of  his  fellow-citizens,  in  both  these  respects,  seems  some 
what  extraordinary,  and  is  scarce  to  be  accounted  for  but 
by  the  preceding  observation. 

Stanza  iii.  3.J  Alluding  to  his  Defence  of  the  People  of 
England  against  Salmasius.  See  particularly  the  manner  in 
which  he  himself  speaks  of  that  undertaking,  in  the  introduc 
tion  to  his  reply  to  Morus. 

Stanza  iv.  3.]  Edward  the  Third ;  from  whom  descended 
Henry  Hastings,  third  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  by  the  daughter  of 
the  Duke  of  Clarence,  brother  to  Edward  the  Fourth. 

Stanza  v.  3.J  At  Whittington,  a  village  on  the  edge  of 
Scarsdale  in  Derbyshire,  the  Earls  of  Devonshire  and  Danby, 
with  the  Lord  Delumere,  privately  concerted  the  plan  of  the 
Revolution.  The  house  in  which  they  met  is  at  present  a  farm 
house,  and  the  country  people  distinguish  the  room  where  they 
sat,  by  the  name  of  the  plotting  parlour. 

B.  ii.  Ode  vii.  Stanza  ii.  1.]     Mr.  Locke  died  in  1704,  when 


NOTES    TO    THE    ODES.  381 

Mr.  Hpadly  was  beginning  to  distinguish  himself  in  the  cause 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty;  Lord  Godolphin  in  1712,  when 
the  doctrines  of  the  Jacobite  faction  were  chiefly  favoured  by 
those  in  power;  Lord  Somers  in  1716,  amid  the  practices  of  the 
nonjuring  clergy  against  the  protestant  establishment;  and 
Lord  Stanhope  in  1721,  during  the  controversy  with  the  lower 
house  of  convocation. 

B.  ii.  Ode  x.  Stanza  \K]  During  Mr.  Pope's  war  with  Theo 
bald,  Concanen,  and  the  rest  of  their  tribe,  Mr.  Warburton, 
the  present  Lord  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  did  with  great  zeal 
cultivate  their  friendship ;  having  been  introduced,  forsooth,  at 
the  meetings  of  that  respectable  confederacy;  a  favour  which 
he  afterwards  spoke  of  in  very  high  terms  of  complacency  and 
thankfulness.  At  the  same  time,  in  his  intercourse  with  them, 
he  treated  Mr.  Pope  in  a  most  contemptuous  manner,  and  as  a 
writer  without  genius.  Of  the  truth  of  these  assertions  his 
lordship  can  have  no  doubt,  if  he  recollects  his  own  correspon 
dence  with  Concanen ;  a  part  of  which  is  still  in  being,  and  will 
probably  be  remembered  as  long  as  any  of  this  prelate's 
•writings. 

B.  ii.  Ode  xiii.]  In  the  year  1751  appeared  a  very  splendid 
edition,  in  quarto,  of  "  Memoires  pour  servir  a  1'llistoire  de 
la  Maison  de  Brandebourg,  a  Berlin  et  u  la  Haye;"  with  a 
privilege  signed  Frederic ;  the  same  being  engraved  in  imitation 
of  hand-writing.  In  this  edition,  among  other  extraordinary 
passages,  are  the  two  following,  to  which  the  third  stanza  of 
this  ode  more  particularly  refers :  — 

"  II  se  fit  une  migration  (the  author  is  speaking  of  what 
happened  on  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes)  dont  on 
n'avoit  guere  vu  d'exemples  dans  1'histoire:  un  peuple  entier 
sortit  du  royaume  par  1'esprit  de  parti,  en  haine  du  pape.  ot 
pour  recevoir  sous  un  autre  ciel  la  communion  sous  les  deux 
especes:  quatre  cens  mille  ames  s'expatrierent  ainsi  et  aban- 
donnerent  tons  leurs  biens,pourde'tonner  dans  d'autres  temples 
les  vieux  pseaumes  de  Cle'ment  Marot."  (p.  163.) 

"  La  crainte  donna  le  jour  a  la  cre'dulite,  et  1'amour  propre 
inte'ressa  bientot  le  ciel  au  destin  des  hommes."  (p.  242.) 


HYMN   TO   THE   NAIADS.     1746. 17 


ARGUMENT. 

THE  Nymphs,  who  preside  over  springs  and  rivulets,  are  addressed  at 
daybreak,  in  honour  of  their  several  functions,  and  of  the  relations 
which  they  hear  to  the  natural  and  to  the  moral  world.  Their 
origin  is  deduced  from  the  first  allegorical  deities,  or  powers  of 
nature ;  according  to  the  doctrine  of  the  old  mythological  poets, 
concerning  the  generation  of  the  gods  and  the  rise  of  things. 
They  are  then  successively  considered,  as  giving  motion  to  the  air, 
and  exciting  summer  breezes;  as  nourishing  and  beautifying  the 
vegetable  creation;  as  contributing  to  the  fulness  of  navigable 
rivers,  and  consequently  to  the  maintenance  of  commerce;  and 
by  that  means  to  the  maritime  part  of  military  power.  Next  is 
represented  their  favourable  influence  upon  health,  when  assisted 
by  rural  exercise :  which  introduces  their  connection  with  the  nrt 
of  physic,  and  the  happy  effects  of  mineral  medicinal  springs. 
Lastly,  they  are  celebrated  for  the  friendship  which  the  Muses  bear 
them,  and  for  the  true  inspiration  which  temperance  only  can 
receive;  in  opposition  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  more  licentious 
poets. 

O'ER  yonder  eastern  hill  the  twilight  pale 

Walks  forth  from  darkness ;  and  the  God  of  day, 

With  bright  Astrsea  seated  by  his  side, 

Waits  yet  to  leave  the  ocean.     Tarry,  Nymphs, 

Ye  Nymphs,  ye  blue-ey'd  progeny  of  Thames, 

Who  now  the  mazes  of  this  rugged  heath 

Trace  with  your  fleeting  steps :  who  all  night  long 

Repeat,  amid  the  cool  and  tranquil  air, 

Your  lonely  murmurs,  tarry ;  and  receive 

My  offer'd  lay.     To  pay  you  homage  due,  w 


HYMN    TO»THE   NAIADS.  383 

I  leave  the  gates  of  sleep;, nor  shall  my  lyre 
Too  far  into  the  splendid  hours  of  morn 
Engage  your  audience :  my  observant  hand 
Shall  close  the  strain  ere  any  sultry  beam 
Approach  you.     To  your  subterranean  haunts 
Ye  then  may  timely  steal ;  to  pace  with  care 
The  humid  sands ;  to  loosen  from  the  soil 
The  bubbling  sources ;  to  direct  the  rills 
To  meet  in  wider  channels ;  or  beneath 
Some  grotto's  dripping  arch,  at  height  of  noon     20 
To  slumber,  shelter'd  from  the  burning  heaven. 

Where  shall  my  song  begin,  ye  Nymphs  ?  or  end  ? 
Wide  is  your  praise  and  copious. —  First  of  things, 
First  of  the  lonely  powers,  ere  Time  arose, 
Were  Love  and  Chaos.     Love,  the  sire  of  Fate  ; 
Elder  than  Chaos.     Born  of  Fate  was  Time, 
Who  many  sons  and  many  comely  births 
Devour'd,  relentless  father ;  till  the  child 
Of  Rhea  drove  him  from  the  upper  sky,  29 

And  quell'd  his  deadly  might.     Then  social  reign'd 
The  kindred  powers,  Tethys,  and  reverend  Ops, 
And  spotless  Vesta ;  while  supreme  of  sway 
Remain'd  the  Cloud-compeller.     From  the  couch 
Of  Tethys  sprang  the  sedgy-crowned  race, 
Who  froift  a  thousand  urns,  o'er  every  clime, 
Send  tribute  to  their  parent ;  and  from  them 
Are  ye,  O  Naiads  :  Arethusa  fair, 
And  tuneful  Aganippe ;  that  sweet  name, 
Bandusia ;  that  soft  family  which  dwelt 
With  Syrian  Daphne  ;  and  the  honour'd  tribes    « 


384  HYMN   TO    THJi   NAIADS. 

Belov'd  of  Paeon.     Listen  to  my  strain, 
Daughters  of  Tethys :  listen  to  your  praise. 

You,  Nymphs,  the  winged  offspring,  which  of  old 
Aurora  to  divine  Astrasus  bore, 
Owns ;  and  your  aid  beseecheth.     "When  the  might 
Of  Hyperion,  from  his  noontide  throne, 
Unbends  their  languid  pinions,  aid  from  you 
They  ask ;  Favonius  and  the  mild  South-west 
From  you  relief  implore.     Your  sallying  streams 
Fresh  vigour  to  their  weary  wings  impart.  so 

Again  they  fly,  disporting ;  from  the  mead 
Half  ripen'd  and  the  tender  blades  of  corn, 
To  sweep  the  noxious  mildew ;  or  dispel 
Contagious  steams,  which  oft  the  parched  earth 
Breathes  on  her  fainting  sons.     From  noon  to  eve, 
Along  the  river  and  the  paved  brook, 
Ascend  the  cheerful  breezes :  hail'd  of  bards 
"Who,  fast  by  learned  Cam,  the  .ZEolian  lyre 
Solicit ;  nor  unwelcome  to  the  youth 
Who  on  the  heights  of  Tibur,  all  inclin'd  a> 

O'er  rushing  Anio,  with  a  pious  hand 
The  reverend  scene  delineates,  broken  fanes, 
Or  tombs,  or  pillar'd  aqueducts,  the  pomp 
Of  ancient  Time ;  and  haply,  while  he  scans 
The  ruins,  with  a  silent  tear  revolves      * 
The  fame  and  fortune  of  imperious  Rome. 

You  too,  0  Nymphs,  and  your  unenvious  aid 
The  rural  powers  confess  ;  and  still  prepare 
For  you  their  choicest  treasures.     Pan  commands, 
Oft  as  the  Delian  king  with  Sirius  holds  n 


HYMN    TO    THE   NAIADS.  385 

The  central  heavens,  the  father  of  the  grove 
Commands  his  Dryads  over  your  abodes 
To  spread  their  deepest  umbrage.     Well  the  god 
Bemembereth  how  indulgent  ye  supplied 
Your  genial  dews  to  nurse  them  in  their  prime. 

Pales,  the  pasture's  queen,  where'er  ye  stray, 
Pursues  your  steps,  delighted ;  and  the  path 
"With  living  verdure  clothes.     Around  your  haunts 
The  laughing  Chloris,  with  profusest  hand, 
Throws  wide  her  blooms,  her  odours.     Still  with 
you  so 

Pomona  seeks  to  dwell ;  and  o'er  the  lawns, 
And  o'er  the  vale  of  Bichmond,  where  with  Thames 
Ye  love  to  wander,  Amalthea  pours 
Well-pleas'd  the  wealth  of  that  Ammonian  horn, 
Her  dower ;  unmindful  of  the  fragrant  isles 
Nysasan  or  Atlantic.     Nor  canst  thou, 
(Albeit  oft,  ungrateful,  thou  dost  mock 
The  beverage  of  the  sober  Naiad's  urn, 
O  Bromius,  O  Lensean)  nor  canst  thou 
Disown  the  powers  whose  bounty,  ill  repaid,         90 
With  nectar  feeds  thy  tendrils.     Yet  from  me, 
Yet,  blameless  Nymphs,  from  my  delighted  lyre, 
Accept  the  rites  your  bounty  well  may  claim ; 
Nor  heed  the  scoffings  of  the  Edonian  band. 

For  better  praise  awaits  you.    Thames,  your  sire, 
As  down  the  verdant  slope  your  duteous  rills 
Descend,  the  tribute  stately  Thames  receives, 
Delighted  ;  and  your  piety  applauds ; 
And  bids  his  copious  tide  roll  on  secure, 


386  HYMN    TO    THE   NAIADS. 

For  faithful  are  his  daughters  ;  and  with  words 
Auspicious  gratulates  the  bark  which,  now          101 
His  banks  forsaking,  her  adventurous  wings 
Yields  to  the  breeze,  with  Albion's  happy  gifts 
Extremest  isles  to  bless.     And  oft  at  morn, 
When  Hermes,  from  Olympus  bent  o'er  earth 
To  bear  the  words  of  Jove,  on  yonder  hill 
Stoops  lightly-sailing  ;  oft  intent  your  springs 
He  views  ;  and  waving  o'er  some  new-born  stream 
His  blest  pacific  wand,  "  And  yet,"  he  cries, 
"  Yet,"  cries  the  son  of  Maia,  "  though  recluse 
And  silent  be  your  stores,  from  you,  fair  Nymphs, 
Flows  wealth  and  kind  society  to  men.  112 

By  you  my  function  and  my  honour'd  name 
Do  I  possess  ;  \yhile  o'er  the  Boetic  vale, 
Or  through  the  towers  of  Memphis,  or  the  palms 
By  sacred  Ganges  water'd,  I  conduct 
The  English  merchant :  with  the  buxom  fleece 
Of  fertile  Ariconium  while  I  clothe 
Sarmatian  kings  ;  or  to  the  household  gods 
Of  Syria,  from  the  bleak  Cornubian  shore,          120 
Dispense  the  mineral  treasure  which  of  old 
Sidonian  pilots  sought,  when  this  fair  land 
Was  yet  unconscious  of  those  generous  arts 
Which  wise  Phoenicia  from  their  native  clime 
Transplanted  to  a  more  indulgent  heaven." 

Such  are  the  words  of  Hermes  ;  such  the  praise, 
O  Naiads,  which  from  tongues  celestial  waits 
Your  bounteous  deeds.  From  bounty  issueth  power ; 
And  those  who,  sedulous  in  prudent  works, 


HYMN    TO    THE   NAIADS.  387 

Relieve  the  wants  of  nature,  Jove  repays  iso 

With  noble  wealth,  and  his  own  seat  on  earth, 

Fit  judgments  to  pronounce,  and  curb  the  might 

Of  wicked  men.     Your  kind  unfailing  urns 

Not  vainly  to  the  hospitable  arts 

Of  Hermes  yield  their  store.     For,  0  ye  Nymphs, 

Hath  he  not  won  the  unconquerable  queen 

Of  arms  to  court  your  friendship  ?     You  she  owns 

The  fair  associates  who  extend  her  sway 

Wide  o'er  the  mighty  deep  ;  and  grateful  things 

Of  you  she  uttereth,  oft  as  from  the  shore  HO 

Of  Thames,  or  Medway's  vale,  or  the  green  banks 

Of  Vecta,  she  her  thundering  navy  leads 

To  Calpe's  foaming  channel,  or  the  rough 

Cantabrian  surge ;  her  auspices  divine 

Imparting  to  the  senate  and  the  prince 

Of  Albion,  to  dismay  barbaric  kings, 

The  Iberian,  or  the  Celt.     The  pride  of  kings 

Was  ever  scorn'd  by  Pallas  :  and  of  old 

Rejoic'd  the  virgin,  from  the  brazen  prow 

Of  Athens  o'er  ^Egina's  gloomy  surge,  iso 

To  drive  her  clouds  and  storms  ;  o'erwhelming  all 

The  Persian's  promis'd  glory,  when  the  realms 

Of  Indus  and  the  soft  Ionian  clime, 

When  Lybia's  torrid  champaign  and  the  rocks 

Of  cold  Imaus  join'd  their  servile  bands, 

To  sweep  the  sons  of  Liberty  from  earth. 

In  vain :  Minerva  on  the  bounding  prow 

Of  Athens  stood,  and  with  the  thunder's  voice 

Denounc'd  her  terrors  on  their  impious  heads, 


388  HYMN    TO    THE    NAIADS. 

And  shook  her  burning  aegis.     Xerxes  saw :        ico 
From  Heracleum,  on  the  mountain's  height 
Thron'd  in  his  golden  car,  he  knew  the  sign 
Celestial ;  felt  unrighteous  hope  forsake 
His  faltering  heart,  and  turn'd  his  face  with  shame. 
Hail,  ye  who  share  the  stern  Minerva's  power ; 
Who  arm  the  hand  of  Liberty  for  war ; 
And  give  to  the  renown'd  Britannic  name 
To  awe  contending  monarchs  ;  yet  benign, 
Yet  mild  of  nature  :  to  the  works  of  peace 
More  prone,  and  lenient  of  the  many  ills  170 

Which  wait  on  human  life.     Your  gentle  aid 
Hygeia  well  can  witness ;  she  who  saves, 
From  poisonous  cates  and  cups  of  pleasing  bane, 
The  wretch  devoted  to  the  entangling  snares 
Of  Bacchus  and  of  Comus.     Him  she  leads 
To  Cynthia's  lonely  haunts.     To  spread  the  toils, 
To  beat  the  coverts,  with  the  jovial  horn 
At  dawn  of  day  to  summon  the  loud  hounds, 
She  calls  the  lingering  sluggard  from  his  dreams ; 
And  where  his  breast  may  drink   the   mountain 
breeze,  is> 

And  where  the  fervour  of  the  sunny  vale 
May  beat  upon  his  brow,  through  devious  paths 
Beckons  his  rapid  courser.     Nor  when  ease, 
Cool  ease  and  welcome  slumbers  have  becalm'd 
His  eager  bosom,  does  the  queen  of  health 
Her  pleasing  care  withhold.     His  decent  board 
She  guards,  presiding ;  and  the  frugal  powers 
With  joy  sedate  leads  in :  and  while  the  brown 


HYMN   TO    THE   NAIADS.  389 

Enncean  dame  with  Pan  presents  her  stores ; 
While  changing  still,  and  comely  in  the  change, 
Vertumnus  and  the  Hours  before  him  spread      191 
The  garden's  banquet ;  you  to  crown  his  feast, 
To  crown  his  feast,  O  Naiads,  you  the  fair 
Hygeia  calls ;  and  from  your  shelving  seats, 
And  groves  of  poplar,  plenteous  cups  ye  bring, 
To  slake  his  veins :  till  soon  a  purer  tide 
Flows  down  those  loaded  channels ;  washeth  off 
The  dregs  of  luxury,  the  lurking  seeds 
Of  crude  disease ;  and  through  the  abodes  of  life 
Sends  vigour,  sends  repose.     Hail,  Naiads  :  hail, 
Who  give,  to  labour,  health  ;  to  stooping  age, 
The  joys  which  youth  had  squander'd.     Oft  your 
urns  *)2 

Will  I  invoke ;  and  frequent  in  your  praise, 
Abash  the  frantic  Thyrsus  with  my  song. 

For  not  estrang'd  from  your  benignant  arts 
Is  he,  the  god,  to  whose  mysterious  shrine 
My  youth  was  sacred,  and  my  votive  cares 
Belong  ;  the  learned  Paeon.     Oft  when  all 
His  cordial  treasures  he  hath  search'd  in  vain ; 
When  herbs,  and  potent  trees,  and  drops  of  balm 
Rich  with  the  genial  influence  of  the  sun,  an 

(To  rouse  dark  fancy  from  her  plaintive  dreams, 
To  brace  the  nerveless  arm,  with  food  to  win 
Sick  appetite,  or  hush  the  unquiet  breast 
Which  pines  with  silent  passion)  he  in  vain 
Hath  prov'd ;  to  your  deep  mansions  he  descends. 
Your  gates  of  humid  rock,  your  dim  arcades, 


390  HYMN    TO    THE    NAIADS. 

He  entereth  ;  where  impurpled  veins  of  ore 
Gleam  on  the  roof;  where  through  the  rigid  mine 
Your  trickling  rills  insinuate.     There  the  god     220 
From- your  indulgent  hand  the  streaming  bowl 
Wafts  to  his  pale-ey'd  suppliants ;  wafts  the  seeds 
Metallic  and  the  elemental  salts  [soon 

Wash'd  from  the  pregnant  glebe.    They  drink  :  and 
Flies  pain  ;  flies  inauspicious  care  :  and  soon 
The  social  haunt  or  unfrequented  shade 
Hears  lo,  lo  Paean  ;  as  of  old, 
When  Python  fell.     And,  0  propitious  Nymphs, 
Oft  as  for  hapless  mortals  I  implore 
Your  salutary  springs,  through  every  urn  230 

0  shed  your  healing  treasures  !     With  the  first 
And  finest  breath,  which  from  the  genial  strife 
Of  mineral  fermentation  springs,  like  light 
O'er  the  fresh  morning's  vapours,  lustrate  then 
The  fountain,  and  inform  the  rising  wave. 

My  lyre  shall  pay  your  bounty.     Scorn  not  ye 
That  humble  tribute.     Though  a  mortal  hand 
Excite  the  strings  to  utterance,  yet  for  themes 
Not  unregarded  of  celestial  powers, 

1  frame  their  language ;  and  the  Muses  deign     240 
To  guide  the  pious  tenor  of  my  lay. 

The  Muses  (sacred  by  their  gifts  divine) 
n  early  days  did  to  my  wondering  sense 
Their  secrets  oft  reveal ;  oft  my  rais'd  ear 
In  slumber  felt  their  music ;  oft  at  noon 
Or  hour  of  sunset,  by  some  lonely  stream, 
In  field  or  shady  grove,  they  taught  me  words 


HYMN   TO    THE   NAIADS.  391 

Of  power  from  death  and  envy  to  preserve  [mind, 
The  good  man's  name.  Whence  yet  with  grateful 
And  offerings  unprofan'd  by  ruder  eye,  250 

M}-  vows  I  send,  my  homage,  to  the  seats 
Of  rocky  Cirrha,  where  with  you  they  dwell ; 
Where  you  their  chaste  Companions  they  admit, 
Through  all  the  hallow'd  scene ;  where  oft  intent, 
And  leaning  o'er  Castalia's  mossy  verge, 
They  mark  the  cadence  of  your  confluent  urns, 
How  tuneful,  yielding  gratefullest  repose 
To  their  consorted  measure :  till  again, 
With  emulation  all  the  sounding  choir, 
And  bright  Apollo,  leader  of  the  song,  260 

Their  voices  through  the  liquid  air  exalt,    [strings 
And  sweep  their  lofty  strings,  —  those   powerful 
That  charm  the  mind  of  gods ;  that  fill  the  courts 
Of  wide  Olympus  with  oblivion  sweet 
Of  evils,  with  immortal  rest  from  cares ; 
Assuage  the  terrors  of  the  throne  of  Jove  ; 
And  quench  the  formidable  thunderbolt 
Of  unrelenting  fire.     With  slacken'd  wings, 
While  now  the  solemn  concert  breathes  around, 
Incumbent  o'er  the  sceptre  of  his  lord  2ro 

Sleeps  the  stern  eagle ;  by  the  number'd  notes  * 
Possess'd  ;  and  satiate  with  the  melting  tone  : 
Sovereign  of  birds.     The  furious  god  of  war, 
His  darts  forgetting,  and  the  winged  wheels 
That  bear  him  vengeful  o'er  the  embattled  plain, 
Relents,  and  soothes  his  own  fierce  heart  to  ease, 
Most  welcome  ease.     The  sire  of  gods  and  men, 


392  HYMN   TO    THE   NAIADS. 

In  that  great  moment  of  divine  delight, 
Looks  down  on  all  that  live  ;  and  whatsoe'er 
He  loves  not,  o'er  the  peopled  earth  and  o'er       230 
The  interminated  ocean,  he  beholds 
Curs'd  with  abhorrence  by  his  doom  severe, 
And  troubled  at  the  sound.     Ye  Naiads,  ye 
With  ravish'd  ears  the  melody  attend 
Worthy  of  sacred  silence.     But  the  slaves 
Of  Bacchus  with  tempestuous  clamours  strive 
To  drown  the  heavenly  strains ;  of  highest  Jove, 
Irreverent ;  and  by  mad  presumption  fir'd 
Their  own  discordant  raptures  to  advance 
With  hostile  emulation.     Down  they  rush  200 

From  Nysa's  vine-impurpled  cliff,  the  dames 
Of  Thrace,  the  Satyrs,  and  the  unruly  Fauns, 
With  old  Silenus,  reeling  through  the  crowd 
Which  gambols  round  him,  in  convulsions  wild 
Tossing  their  limbs,  and  brandishing  in  air 
The  ivy-mantled  thyrsus,  or  the  torch 
Thro'  black  smoke  naming,  to  the  Phrygian  pipe's 
Shrill  voice,  and  to  the  flashing  cymbals,  mix'd 
With  shrieks  and  frantic  uproar.     May  the  gods 
From  every  unpolluted  ear  avert  300 

Their  orgies !     If  within  the  seats  of  men, 
Within  the  walls,  the  gates,  where  Pallas  holds 
The  guardian  key,  if  haply  there  be  found 
Who  loves  to  mingle  with  the  revel-band 
And  hearken  to  their  accents ;  who  aspires 
From  such  instructors  to  inform  his  breast 
With  verse  :  let  him,-  fit  votarist,  implore 


HYMN    TO    THE   NAIADS.  393 

Their  inspiration.     He  perchance  the  gifts 

Of  young  Lyaeus,  and  the  dread  exploits, 

May  sing  in  aptest  numbers  :  he  the  fate  sio 

Of  sober  Pentheus,  he  the  Paphian  rites, 

And  naked  Mars  with  Cytherea  chain'd, 

And  strong  Alcides  in  the  spinster's  robes, 

May  celebrate,  applauded.     But  with  you, 

O  Naiads,  far  from  that  unhallow'd  rout, 

Must  dwell  the  man  whoe'er  to  praised  themes 

Invokes  the  immortal  Muse.     The  immortal  Muse 

To  your  calm  habitations,  to  the  cave 

Corycian  or  the  Delphic  mount,  will  guide 

His  footsteps ;  'and  with  your  unsullied  streams    320 

His  lips  will  bathe :  whether  the  eternal  lore 

Of  Themis,  or  the  majesty  of  Jove, 

To  mortals  he  reveal ;  or  teach  his  lyre 

The  unenvied  guerdon  of  the  patriot's  toils, 

In  those  unfading  islands  of  the  bless'd, 

"Where  sacred  bards  abide.  Hail,  honour'd  Nymphs; 

Thrice  hail.     For  you  the  Cyrenai'c  shell, 

Behold,  I  touch,  revering.     To  my  songs 

Be  present  ye  with  favourable  feet, 

And  all  profaner  audience  far  remove.  330 


2  c 


394 


NOTES  ON   THE  HYMN  TO  THE  NAIADS. 


LINE  25.          Love 

Elder  than  Chaos.]  Hesiod,  in  his  Theogony,  gives  a  dif 
ferent  account,  and  makes  Chaos  the  eldest  of  beings,  though 
he  assigns  to  Love  neither  father  nor  superior;  which  circum 
stance  is  particularly  mentioned  by  Phajdrus,  in  Plato's  Ban 
quet,  as  being  observable  not  only  in  Hesiod,  but  in  all  other 
writers  both  of  verse  and  prose :  and  on  the  same  occasion  he 
cites  a  line  from  Parmenides,  in  which  Love  is  expressly  styled 
the  eldest  of  all  the  gods.  Yet  Aristophanes,  in  "  The  Birds," 
affirms,  that "  Chaos,  and  Night,  and  Erebus,  and  Tartarus  were 
first;  and  that  Love  was  produced  from  an  egg,  which  the  sable- 
Avinged  night  deposited  in  the  immense  bosom  of  Erebus."  But 
it  must  be  observed,  that  the  Love  designed  by  this  comic  poet 
was  always  distinguished  from  the  other,  from'' that  original  and 
self-existent  Being,  the  TO  ON  or  Al'AOON  of  Plato,  and 
meant  only  the  AHMIOTPFOS  or  second  person  of  the  old 
Grecian  trinity;  to  whom  is  inscribed  a  hymn  among  those 
which  pass  under  the  name  of  Orpheus,  where  he  is  called 
Protogonos,  or  the  first-begotten,  is  said  to  have  been  born  of 
an  egg,  and  is  represented  as  the  principle  or  origin  of  all  these 
external  appearances  of  nature.  In  the  fragments  of  Orpheus, 
collected  by  Henry  Stephens,  he  is  named  Phanes,  the  discov 
erer  or  discloser ;  who  unfolded  the  ideas  of  the  supreme  Intel 
ligence,  and  exposed  them  to  the  perception  of  inferior  beings 
in  this  visible  frame  of  the  world;  as  Macrobius,  and  Proclus, 
and  Athenagoras,  all  agree  to  interpret  the  several  passages  of 
Orpheus  which  they  have  preserved. 

But  the  Love  designed  in  our  text  is  the  one  self-existent 
and  infinite  Mind,  whom  if  the  generality  of  ancient  mytholo- 
gists  have  not  introduced  or  truly  described  in  accounting  for 
the  production  of  the  world  and  its  appearances ;  yet,  to  a  mo 
dern  poet,  it  can  be  no  objection  that  he  hath  ventured  to  diti'er 
from  them  in  this  particular ;  though,  in  other  respects,  he  pro- 
fesseth  to  imitate  their  manner  and  conform  to  their  opinions. 
For,  in  these  great  points  of  natural  theology,  they  diller  no 
less  remarkably  among  themselves,  and  are  perpetually  con 
founding  the  philosophical  relations  of  things  with  the  tradi 
tionary  circumstances  of  mythic  history/  upon  which  very 


NOTES    ON    HYMN    TO    THE   NAIADS.         395 

account,  Callimachus,  in  his  hymn  to  Jupiter,  declareth  his 
dissent  from  them  concerning  even  an  article  of  the  national 
creed;  adding  that  the  ancient  bards  were  by  no  means  to  be 
depended  on.  And  yet  in  the  exordium  of  the  old  Argonautio 
poem,  ascribed  to  Orpheus,  it  is  said,  that  u  Love,  whom  mor 
tals  in  later  times  call  Phanes,  was  the  father  of  the  eternally  - 
begotten  Night;"  who  is  generally  represented  by  these  myth 
ological  poets  as  being  herself  the  parent  of  all  things;  "and 
who,  in  the  "  Indigitamenta,"  or  Orphic  Hymns,  is  said  to  be 
the  same  with  Cypris,  or  Love  itself.  Moreover,  in  the  body 
of  this  Argonautic  poem,  where  the  personated  Orpheus  intro- 
duceth  himself  singing  to  his  lyre  in  reply  to  Chiron,  he  cele- 
brateth  "  the  obscure  memory  of  Chaos,  and  the  natures  which 
it  contained  within  itself  in  a  state  of  perpetual  vicissitude ; 
how  the  heaven  had  its  boundary  determined,  the  generation 
of  the  earth,  the  depth  of  the  ocean,  and  also  the  sapient  Love, 
the  most  ancient,  the  self-sufficient ;  with  all  the  beings  which 
he  produced  when  he  separated  one  thing  from  another."  Which 
noble  passage  is  more  directly  to  Aristotle's  purpose  in  the  first 
book  of  his  metaphysics  than  any  of  those  which  he  has  there 
quoted,  to  show  that  the  ancient  poets  and  mythologists  agreed 
with  Empedocles,  Anaxagoras,  and  the  other  more  sober  phi 
losophers,  in  that  natural  anticipation  and  common  notion  of 
mankind  concerning  the  necessity  of  mind  and  reason  to  ac 
count  for  the  connection,  motion,  and  good  order  of  the  world. 
For  though  neither  this  poem  nor  the  hymns  which  pass  un 
der  the  same  name  are,  it  should  seem,  the  work  of  the  real 
Orpheus,  yet,  beyond  all  question,  they  are  very  ancient.  The 
hymns,  more  particularly,  are  allowed  to  be  older  than  the  in 
vasion  of  Greece  by  Xerxes,  and  were  probably  a  set  of  public 
and  solemn  forms  of  devotion,  as  appears  by  a  passage  in  one 
of  them,  which  Demosthenes  hath  almost  literally  cited  in  his 
first  oration  against  Aristogiton,  as  the  saying  of  "Orpheus,  the 
founder  of  their  most  holy  mysteries.  On  this  account,  they 
are  of  higher  authority  than  any  other  mythological  work  now 
extant,  the  Theogony  of  Hesiod  himself  not  excepted.  The 
poetry  of  them  is  often  extremely  noble ;  and  the  mysterious 
air  which  prevails  in  them,  together  with  its  delightful  impres 
sion  upon  the  mind,  cannot  be  better  expressed  than  in  that 
remarkable  description  with  which  they  inspired  the  German 
editor  Eschenbach,  when  he  accidentally  met  with  them  at 
Leipsic:  "  Thesaurum  me  reperisse  credidi,"  says  he,  "et  pro- 
feeto  thesaurum  reperi.  Incredibile  dictu  quo  me  sacro  hor- 
rore  afflaverint  indigitamenta  ista  deorum:  nam  et  tempus  ad 
illorum  lectionem  eligere  cogebar,  quod  vel  solum  horrorem 
incutere  animo  potest,  nocturnum ;  cum  enim  totam  diem  con- 
sumserim  in  contemplando  urbis  splendore,  et  in  adeundis, 
quibus  scatet  urbs  ilia,  viris  doctis ;  sola  nox  restabat,  quam 
Orpheo  consecrare  potui.  In  abyssum  quendam  mysteriorum 
verierandae  antiquitatis  descendere  videbar,  quotiescunque  si- 


396  NOTES    ON   THE 


lente  mundo,  solis  vigilantibus  astris  et  luna,  j 
hymnos  ad  munus  sumsi." 

Line  25.  Chaos.]  The  unformed,  undigested  mass  of  Moses 
and  Plato;  which  Milton  calls 

"  The  womb  of  nature." 

Line  25.  Zore,  the  sire  of  Fate.]  Fate  is  the  universal  system 
of  natural  causes;  the  work  of  the  Omnipotent  Mind,  or  of 
Love:  so  Minucius  Felix:  "  Quid  enim  aliud  est  fatum,  quam 
quod  de  unoquoque  nostrum  deus  fatus  est."  So  also  Cicero,  in 
the  First  Book  on  Divination:  "Fatum  autem  id  appello,  quod 
Graeci  E1MAPMENHN  :  id  est,  ordinem  seriemque  causarum, 
cum  causa  causse  nexa  rem  ex  se  gignat  —  ex  quo  intelligitur, 
ut  fatum  sit  non  id  quod  superstitiose,  sed  id  quod  physice 
dicitur  causa  seterna  rerum."  To  the  same  purpose  is  the 
doctrine  of  Hierocles,  in  that  excellent  fragment  concerning 
Providence  and  Destiny.  As  to  the  three  Fates,  or  Desti 
nies  of  the  poets,  they  represented  that  part  of  the  general 
system  of  natural  causes  which  relates  to  man,  and  to  other 
mortal  beings;  for  so  we  are  told  in  the  hymn  addressed  to 
them  among  the  Orphic  Indigitamenta,  where  they  are  called 
the  daughters  of  Night  (or  Love),  and,  contrary  to  the  vulgar 
notion,  are  distinguished  by  the  epithets  of  gentle  and  tender 
hearted.  According  to  Hesiod,  Theog.  yer.  904,  they  were  the 
daughters  of  Jupiter  and  Themis  ;  but  in  the  Orphic  Hymn  to 
Venus,  or  Love,  that  goddess  is  directly  styled  the  mother  oi 
Necessity,  and  is  represented,  immediately  after,  as  governing 
the  three  Destinies,  and  conducting  the  whole  system  of  natu 
ral  causes. 

Line  26.  Born  of  Fate  was  Time.\  Cronos,  Saturn,  or  Time, 
was,  according  to  Apollodorus,  the  son  of  Caelum  and  Tellus, 
But  the  author  of  the  Hymns  gives  it  quite  undisguised  by 
mythological  language,  and  calls  him  plainly  the  offspring  of 
the  earth  and  the  starry  heaven  ;  that  is,  of  Fate,  as  explained 
in  the  preceding  note. 

Line  27.  Who  many  sons  devoured.]  The  known  fable  ol 
Saturn  devouring  his  children  was  certainly  meant  to  imply 
the  dissolution  of  natural  bodies  ;  which  are  produced  and  de 
stroyed  by  Time. 

Line  28.   The  child  of  Rhea.\     Jupiter,  so  called  by  Pindar. 

Line  29.  Drove  him  from  the  upper  sky.]  That  Jupiter  de 
throned  his  father  Saturn  is  recorded  by  all  the  mythologists. 
Phurnutus,  or  Cornutus,  the  aiithor  of  a  little  Greek  treatise 
on  the  nature  of  the  gods,  informs  us  that  by  Jupiter  was 
meant  the  vegetable  soul  of  the  world,  which  restrained  and 
prevented  those  uncertain  alterations  which  Saturn,  or  Tune, 
used  formerly  to  cause  in  the  mundane  system. 

Line  30.  Then  social  reign1  d.]  Our  mythology  here  sup- 
poseth,  that  before  the  establishment  of  the  vital,  vegetative, 


HYMN   TO    THE   NAIADS.  397 

plastic  nature  (represented  by  Jupiter),  the  four  elements  were 
m  a  variable  and  unsettled  condition;  but  afterwards,  well- 
disposed  and  at  peace  among  themselves.  Tethys  was  the  wife 
of  the  Ocean;  Ops,  or  Khea,  the  Earth;  Vesta,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  Saturn,  .Fire ;  and  the  cloud-compeller,  or  Zo)f 
vefahr/yepeTTjc.,  the  Air:  though  he  also  represented  the  plastic 
principle  of  nature,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  Orphic  hymn  in 
scribed  to  him. 

Line  34.  The  sedgy-crowned  race.]  The  river-gods;  who, 
according  to  Hesiod's  Theogony,  were  the  sons  of  Oceanus 
and  Tethys. 

Line  36.  From  them  are  ye,  0  Naiads.]  The  descent  of  the 
Naiads  is  less  certain  than  most  points  of  the  Greek  mytho 
logy.  Homer,  Odyss.  xiii.  Kovpac  Ai6f.  Virgil,  in  the  Eighth 
Book  of  the  ^Eneid,  speaks  as  if  the  Nymphs,  or  Naiads,  were 
the  parents  of  the  rivers ;  but  in  this  he  contradicts  the  testi 
mony  of  Hesiod,  and  evidently  departs  from  the  orthodox  sys 
tem,  which  representeth  several  nymphs  as  retaining  to  every 
single  river.  On  the  other  hand,  Callimachus,  who  was  very 
learned  hi  all  the  school-divinity  of  those  times,  in  his  hymn 
to  Delos,  maketh  Peneus,  the  great  Thessalian  river-god,  the 
father  of  his  nymphs ;  and  Ovid,  in  the  fourteenth  book  of  his 
Metamorphoses,  mentions  the  Naiads  of  Latium  as  the  imme 
diate  daughters  of  the  neighbouring  river-gods.  Accordingly, 
the  Naiads  of  particular  rivers  are  occasionally,  both  by  Ovid 
and  Statins,  called  by  patronymic,  from  the  name  of  the  river 
to  which  they  belong. 

Line  40.  Syrian  Daphne.\  The  grove  of  Daphne  in  Syria, 
near  Antioch,  was  famous  for  its  delightful  fountains. 

Line  40.  The  tribes  belov'd  by  Pawn.]  Mineral  and  medicinal 
springs.  Pason  was  the  physician  of  the  gods. 

Line  43.  The  winged  offspring.]  The  Winds ;  who,  accord 
ing  to  Hesiod  and  Apollodorus,  were  the  sons  of  Astrseus  and 
'Aurora. 

Line  46.  Hyperion.]  A  son  of  Caelum  and  Tellus,  and  fa 
ther  of  the  Sun,  who  is  thence  called,  by  Pindar,  Hyperionides. 
But  Hyperion  is  put  by  Homer,  in  the  same  manner  as  here, 
for  the"  Sun  himself. 

Line  49.  Your  sallying  streams.]  The  state  of  the  atmo 
sphere  with  respect  to  rest  and  motion  is,  in  several  ways, 
affected  by  rivers  and  running  streams ;  and  that  more  espe 
cially  in  hot  seasons:  first  they  destroy  its  equilibrium,  by 
cooling  those  parts  of  it  with  which  they  are  in  contact ;  and 
secondly,  they  communicate  their  own  motion:  and  the  air 
which  is  thus  moved  by  them,  being  less  heated,  is  of  conse- 
puence  more  elastic  than  other  parts  of  the  atmosphere,  and 
therefore  fitter  to  preserve  and  to  propagate  that  motion. 

Line  70.  Delian  king.  One  of  the  epithets  of  Apollo,  or  the 
Sun,  in  the  Orphic  hymn  inscribed  to  him. 


398  NOTES    ON    THE 

Line  79.   Chloris.  ]     The  ancient  Greek  name  for  Flora. 

Line  83.  Amalthea.]  The  mother  of  the  first  Bacchus,  whose 
birth  and  education  was  written,  as  Diodorus  Siculus  informs 
us,  in  the  old  Pelasgic  character,  by  Thymoetes,  grandson  to 
Laomedon,  and  contemporary  with  Orpheus.  Thymoetes  had 
travelled  over  Libya  to  the  country  which  borders  on  the  wes 
tern  ocean;  there  lie  saw  the  island  of  Nysa,  and  learned  from 
the  inhabitants,  that  "  Ammon,  king  of  Libya,  was  married  in 
former  ages  to  Rhea,  sister  of  Saturn  and  the  Titans:  that  he 
afterwards  fell  in  love  with  a  beautiful  virgin  whose  name  was 
Amalthea;  had  by  her  a  son,  and  gave  her  possession  of  a 
neighbouring  tract"of  land,  wonderfully  fertile ;  which,  in  shape 
nearly  resembling  the  horn  of  an  ox,  was  thence  called  the 
Hesperian  horn,  and  afterwards  the  horn  of  Amalthea:  that, 
fearing  the  jealousy  of  Rhea,  he  concealed  the  young  Bacchus, 
with  his  mother,  in  the  isle  of  Nysa;"  the  beauty  of  whicli 
Diodorus  describes  with  great  dignity  and  pomp  of  style. 
This  fable  is  one  of  the  noblest  in  all  the  ancient  mythology, 
and  seems  to  have  made  a  particular  impression  on  the  imagi 
nation  of  Milton;  the  only  modern  poet  (unless  perhaps  it  be 
necessary  to  except  Spenser)  who,  in  these  mysterious  tradi 
tions  of  the  poetic  story,  had  a  heart  to  feel,  and  words  to  ex 
press,  the  simple  and  solitary  genius  of  antiquity.  To  raise 
the  idea  of  his  Paradise,  he  prefers  it  even  to  — 


"  That  Nysean  isle 


Girt  by  the  river  Triton,  where  old  Cham, 
(Whom  Gentiles  Ammon  call,  and  Libyan  Jcre) 
Hid  AmaltUea,  and  her  liorid  son, 
Young  Bacchus,  from  his  stepdame  Rhea's  eye." 

Line  94.  Edonian  band  ]  The  priestesses  and  other  minis 
ters  of  Bacchus  :  so  called  from  Edonus,  a  mountain  of  Thrace, 
where  his  rites  were  celebrated. 

Line  105.  When  Hermes.]  Hermes,  or  Mercury,  was  the 
patron  of  commerce  ;  in  which  benevolent  character  he  is  ad 
dressed  by  the  author  of  the  Indigitamenta,  in  these  beautiful 
lines  :  — 

''Ep/j.rjvev  iravTUV,  nepdefiTrops, 
"Of  ^e^peocnv  e^etf  dprjvrjs  d 


Line  121.  Dispense  the  mineral  treasure.]  The  merchants  of 
Sidon  and  Tyre  made  frequent  voyages  to  the  coast  of  Corn 
wall,  from  whence  they  carried  home  great  quantities  of  tin. 

Line  136.  Hath  he  not  won.]  Mercury,  the  patron  of  com 
merce,  being  so  greatly  dependent  on  the  good  offices  of  the 
Naiads,  in  return  obtains  for  them  the  friendship  of  Minerva, 
the  goddess  of  war  :  for  military  power,  at  least  the  naval  part 
of  it,  hath  constantly  followed  the  establishment  of  trade  ; 
which  exemplifies  the  preceding  observation,  that  "  from 
bounty  issueth  power." 


HYMN   TO    THE    NAIADS.  399 

Line  143.  Calpe  —  Caniabrian  surge.}  Gibraltar  and  the 
Bay  of  Biscay. 

Line  150.  JEymci's  gloomy  surge.}  Near  this  island,  the 
Athenians  obtained  the' victory  of  iSalamis,  over  the  Persian 
navy. 

Line  160.  Xerxes  saw.}  This  circumstance  is  recorded  in 
that  passage,  perhaps  the  most  splendid  among  al]  the  remains 
of  ancient  history,  where  Plutarch,  in  his  Life  of  Themistocles, 
describes  the  sea-tights  of  Artemisium  and  Salamis. 

Line  204.  Thyrsus.}  A  staff,  or  spear,  wreathed  round  with 
ivy :  of  constant  use  in  the  Bacchanalian  mysteries. 

Line  227.  /o,  Pcean.\  An  exclamation  of  victory  and  tri 
umph,  derived  from  Apollo's  encounter  with  Python. 

Line  252.  Cirrha.\  One  of  the  summits  of  Parnassus,  and 
sacred  to  Apollo.  Near  it  were  several  fountains,  said  to  be 
frequented  by  the  Muses.  Nysa,  the  other  eminence  of  the 
same  mountain,  was  dedicated  to  Bacchus. 

Line  263.  Charm  the  mind  of  gods.}  This  whole  passage, 
concerning  the  effects  of  sacred  music  among  the  gods,  is 
taken  from  Pindar's  first  Pythian  ode. 

Line  297.  Phrygian  pipe's.  The  Phrygian  music  was  fan 
tastic  and  turbulent,  and  tit  to  excite  disorderly  passions. 

Line  302.   The  gates  where  Pallas  holds 

The  guardian  key.]  It  was  the  office  of  Minerva 
to  be  the  guardian  of  walled  cities;  whence  she  was  named 
nOAlAZ  and  I1OAIOYX02,  and  had  her  statues  placed  in 
their  gates,  being  supposed  to  keep  the  keys,  and  on  that  ac 
count  styled  KAH1AOYXO2- 

Line  310.  Fate  of  sober  Pentheus.]  Pentheus  was  torn  in 
pieces  by  the  bacchanalian  priests  and  women,  for  despising 
their  mysteries. 

Line  318.  The  cave  Corycian.}  Of  this  cave  Pausanias,  in 
his.  Tenth  Book,  gives  the  following  description:  "Between 
Delphi  and  the  eminences  of  Parnassus,  is  a  road  to  the  grotto 
of  Corycium,  which  has  its  name  from  the  nymph  Corycia,  and 
is  by  far  the  most  remarkable  which  I  have  seen.  One  may  walk 
a  great  way  into  it  without  a  torch.  'Tis  of  a  considerable 
height,  and  hath  several  springs  within  it;  and  yet  a  much 
greater  quantity  of  water  distils  from  the  shell  and  roof,  so  as 
to  be  continually  dropping  on  the  ground.  The  people  round 
Parnassus  hold  it  sacred  to  the  Corycian  nymphs  and  to  Pan." 

Line  319.  Delphic  mount.}  Delphi,  the  seat  and  oracle  of 
Apollo,  had  a  mountainous  and  rocky  situation  on  the  skirts 
of  Parnassus. 

Line  327.  Cyrenalc  shell.}  Gyrene  was  the  native  country 
of  Callimachus,  whose  hymns  are  the  most  remarkable  exam 
ple  of  that  mythological  passion  which  is  assumed  in  .the  pre 
ceding  poem,  and  have  always  afforded  particular  pleasure  to 
the  author  of  it,  by  reason  of  the  mysterious  solemnity  with 
which  they  afi'ect  the  mind.  Ou  this  account  he  was  induced 


400    NOTES  TO  HYMN  TO  THE  NAIADS. 

to  attempt  somewhat  in  the  same  manner,  solely  by  way  of 
exercise ;  the  manner  itself  being  now  almost  entirely  abandoned 
in  poetry.  And  as  the  mere  genealogy,  or  the  personal  adven 
tures  of  heathen  gods,  could  have  been  but  little  interesting  to 
a  modern  reader,  it  was  therefore  thought  proper  to  select 
some  convenient  part  of  the  history  o/  nature,  and  to  employ 
these  ancient  divinities  as  it  is  probable  they  were  first  em 
ployed;  to  wit,  in  personifying  natural  causes,  and  in  repre 
senting  the  mutual  agreement  or  opposition  of  the  corporeal 
and  moral  powers  of  the  world:  which  hath  been  accounted 
the  very  highest  office  of  poetry. 


401 


INSCRIPTIONS.18 


FOR   A    GROTTO. 

To  me,  whom  in  their  lays  the  shepherds  call 
Actaea,  daughter  of  the  neighbouring  stream, 
This  cave  belongs.     The  fig-tree  and  the  vine, 
Which  o'er  the  rocky  entrance  downward  shoot, 
Were  placed  by  Glycori.     He  with  cowslips  pale, 
Primrose,  and  purple  lychnis,  deck'd  the  green 
Before  my  threshold,  and  my  shelving  walls 
With  honeysuckle  cover'd.     Here  at  noon, 
LulPd  by  the  murmur  of  my  rising  fount, 
I  slumber ;  here  my  clustering  fruits  I  tend ; 
Or,  from  the  humid  flowers  at  break  of  day, 
Fresh  garlands  weave,  and  chase  from  all  my  bounds 
Each  thing  impure  or  noxious.     Enter  in, 
O  stranger,  undismay'd.     Nor  bat  nor  toad 
Here  lurks ;  and,  if  thy  breast  of  blameless  thoughts 
Approve  thee,  not  unwelcome  shalt  thou  tread 
My  quiet  mansion  ;  chiefly,  if  thy  name 
Wise  Pallas  and  the  immortal  Muses  own. 

n. 

FOR   A    STATUE    OF    CHAUCER   AT    WOODSTOCK. 

SUCH  was  old  Chaucer ;  such  the  placid  mien 
Of  him  who  first  with  harmony  inform'd 


402        „  INSCRIPTIONS. 

The  language  of  our  fathers.     Here  he  dwelt 
For  many  a  cheerful  day.     These  ancient  walls 
Have  often  heard  him,  while  his  legends  blithe 
He  sang ;  of  love,  or  knighthood,  or  the  wiles 
Of  homely  life :  through  each  estate  and  age, 
The  fashions  and  the  follies  of  the  world 
With  cunning  hand  portraying.    Though  perchance 
From  Blenheim's  towers,  0  stranger,  thou  art  come 
Glowing  with  Churchill's  trophies ;  yet  in  vain 
Dost  thou  applaud  them  if  thy  breast  be  cold 
To  him,  this  other  hero ;  who,  in  times 
Dark  and  untaught,  began  with  charming  verse 
To  tame  the  rudeness  of  his  native  land. 


III. 


WHOE'ER  thou  art  whose  path  in  summer  lies 
Thro'  yonder  village,  turn  thee  where  the  grove 
Of  branching  oaks  a  rural  palace  old 
Imbosoms.     There  dwells  Albert,  generous  lord 
Of  all  the  harvest  round.     And  onward  thence 
A  low  plain  chapel  fronts  the  morning  light 
Fast  by  a  silent  rivulet.     Humbly  walk, 
O  stranger,  o'er  the  consecrated  ground ; 
And  on  that  verdant  hillock,  which  thou  seest 
Beset  with  osiers,  let  thy  pious  hand 
Sprinkle  fresh  water  from  the  brook,  and  strew 
Sweet-smelling  flowers.     For  there  doth  Edmund 
The  learned  shepherd ;  for  each  rural  art       [rest, 
Fam'd,  and  for  songs  harmonious,  and  the  woes 


INSCRIPTIONS.  403 

Of  ill-requited  love.     The  faithless  pride 
Of  fair  Matilda  sank  him  to  the  grave  [ven, 

In  manhood's  prime.     But  soon  did  righteous  Hea- 
With  tears,  with  sharp  remorse  and  pining  care, 
Avenge  her  falsehood.     Nor  could  all  the  gold 
And  nuptial  pomp,  which  lur'd  her  plighted  faith 
From  Edmund  to  a  loftier  husband's  home, 
Relieve  her  breaking  heart,  or  turn  aside 
The  strokes  of  death.     Go,  traveller ;  relate 
The  mournful  story.     Haply  some  fair  maid 
May  hold  it  in  remembrance,  and  be  taught 
That  riches  cannot  pay  for  truth  or  love. 

IV. 

O  YOUTHS  and  virgins  ;  O  declining  eld ; 
O  pale  misfortune's  slaves ;  0  ye  who  dwell  . 
Unknown  with  humble  quiet ;  ye  who  wait 
In  courts,  or  fill  the  golden  seat  of  kings ; 
O  sons  of  sport  and  pleasure ;  O  thou  wretch 
That  weep'st  for  jealous  love,  or  the  sere  wounds 
Of  conscious  guilt,  or  death's  rapacious  hand 
Which  left  thee  void  of  hope ;  O  ye  who  roam 
In  exile ;  ye  who,  througli  the  embattled  field, 
Seek  bright  renown ;  or  who  for  nobler  palms 
Contend,  the  leaders  of  a  public  cause ; 
Approach  :  behold  this  marble.     Know  ye  not 
The  features  ?     Hath  not  oft  his  faithful  tongue 
Told  you  the  fashion  of  your  own  estate, 
The  secrets  of  your  bosom  ?     Here  then,  round 


404  INSCRIPTIONS. 

His  monument  with  reverence  while  ye  stand, 
Say  to  each  other :  "  This  was  Shakespeare's  form ; 
Who  walk'd  in  every  path  of  human  life, 
Felt  every  passion  ;  and  to  all  mankind 
Doth  now,  will  ever,  that  experience  yield 
Which  his  own  genius  only  could  acquire." 


V. 


GVLIELMVS    III.      FORTIS,  PIVS,  LIBERATOR,    CVM 

INEVNTE    AETATE    PATRIAE    LABENTI     ADFVISSET 

SALVS    IPSE    VNICA;     CVM    MOX    ITIDEM    REIPVB- 

LICAE    BRITANNICAE    VINDEX    RENVNCIATVS     ES- 

SET    ATQVE    STATOR  ;     TVM     DENIQVE    AD     ID     SE 

NATVM      RECOGNOVIT      ET      REGEM     FACTVM,     VT 

CVRARET    NE    DOMINO    IMPOTENTI   CEDERENT 

PAX,  FIDES,  FORTVNA,  GENERIS   HVMANI. 

AVCTORI   PVBLICAE   FELICITATIS 

P.  G.  A.  M.  A. 

VI. 

FOR   A    COLUMN   AT   RUNNYMEDE. 

THOU  who  the  verdant  plain  dost  traverse  here, 
While  Thames  among  his  willowrs  from  thy  view 
Retires ;  O  stranger,  stay  thee,  and  the  scene 
Around  contemplate  well.     This  is  the  place 
Where  England's  ancient  barons,  clad  in  arms 
And  stern  with  conquest,  from  their  tyrant  king 


INSCRIPTIONS.  405 

(Then  renderM  tame)  did  challenge  and  secure 
The  charter  of  thy  freedom.     Pass  not  on 
Till  thou  hast  bless'd  their  memory,  and  paid 
Those  thanks  which  God  appointed  the  reward 
Of  public  virtue.     And  if  chance  thy  home 
Salute  thee  with  a  father's  honour'd  name, 
Go,  call  thy  sons ;  instruct  them  what  a  debt 
They  owe  their  ancestors ;  and  make  them  swear 
To  pay  it,  by  transmitting  down  entire 
Those  sacred  rights  to  which  themselves  were  born. 

VII. 

THE    WOOD    NYMPH. 

APPROACH  in  silence.     'Tis  no  vulgar  tale 

Which  I,  the  Dryad  of  this  hoary  oak, 

Pronounce  to  mortal  ears.     The  second  age 

Now  hasteneth  to  its  period,  since  I  rose 

On  this  fair  lawn.     The  groves  of  yonder  vale 

Are  all  my  offspring;  and  each  Nymph,  who  guards 

The  copses  and  the  furrow'd  fields  beyond, 

Obeys  me.     Many  changes  have  I  seen 

In  human  things,  and  many  awful  deeds 

Of  justice,  when  the  ruling  hand  of  Jove 

Against  the  tyrants  of  the  land,  against 

The  unhallow'd  sons  of  luxury  and  guile, 

"Was  arm'd  for  retribution.     Thus  at  length 

Expert  in  laws  divine,  I  know  the  paths 

Of  wisdom,  and  erroneous  folly's  end 

Have  oft  presag'd ;  and  now  well-pleas'd  I  wait 


406  INSCRIPTIONS. 

X 

Each  evening  till  a  noble  youth,  who  loves 
My  shade,  awhile  releas'd  from  public  cares, 
Yon  peaceful  gate  shall  enter,  and  sit  down 
Beneath  my  branches.     Then  his  musing  mind 
I  prompt,  unseen ;  and  place  before  his  view 
Sincerest  forms  of  good ;  and  move  his  heart 
With  the  dread  bounties  of  the  Sire  supreme 
Of  gods  and  men,  with  freedom's  generous  deeds, 
The  lofty  voice  of  glory  and  the  faith 
Of  sacred  friendship.     Stranger,  I  have  told 
My  function.     If  within  thy  bosom  dwell 
Aught  which  may  challenge  praise,  thou  wilt  not 
Unhonour'd  my  abode,  nor  shall  I  hear         [leave 
A  sparing  benediction  from  thy  tongue. 

VIII. 

YE  powers  unseen,  to  whom  the  bards  of  Greece 

Erected  altars ;  ye  who  to  the  mind 

More  lofty  views  unfold,  and  prompt  the  heart 

With  more  divine  emotions  ;  if  ere  while 

Not  quite  unpleasing  have  my  votive  rites 

Of  you  been  deem'd,  when  oft  this^  lonely  seat 

To  you  I  consecrated ;  then  vouchsafe 

Here  with  your  instant  energy  to  crown 

My  happy  solitude.     It  is  the  hour 

When  most  I  love  to  invoke  you,  and  have  felt 

Most  frequent  your  glad  ministry  divine. 

The  air  is  calm  :  the  sun's  unveiled  orb 

Shines  in  the  middle  heaven.     The  harvest  round 


INSCRIPTIONS.  407 

Stands  quiet,  and  among  the  golden  sheaves 

The  reapers  lie  reclin'd.    The  neighbouring  groves 

Are  mute ;  nor  even  a  linnet's  random  strain 

Echoeth  amid  the  silence.     Let  me  feel 

Your  influence,  ye  kind  powers.     Aloft  in  heaven, 

Abide  ye  ?  or  on  those  transparent  clouds 

Pass  ye  from  hill  to  hill  ?  or  on  the  shades 

Which  yonder  elms  cast  o'er  the  lake  below 

Do  you  converse  retir'd  ?     From  what  lov'd  haunt 

Shall  I  expect  you  ?     Let  me  once  more  feel 

Your  influence,  O  ye  kind  inspiring  powers : 

And  I  will  guard  it  well ;  nor  shall  a  thought 

Rise  in  my  mind,  nor  shall  a  passion  move 

Across  my  bosom  unobserv'd,  unstor'd 

By  faithful  memory.     And  then  at  some 

More  active  moment,  will  I  call  them  forth 

Anew  ;  and  join  them  in  majestic  forms, 

And  give  them  utterance  in  harmonious  strains ; 

That  all  mankind  shall  wonder  at  your  sway. 

IX. 

ME  though  in  life's  sequester'd  vale 
The  Almighty  Sire  ordain'd  to  dwell, 
Remote  from  glory's  toilsome  ways, 
And  the  great  scenes  of  public  praise ; 
Yet  let  me  still  with  grateful  pride 
Remember  how  my  infant  frame 
He  temper'd  with  prophetic  flame, 
And  early  music  to  my  tongue  supplied. 


408  INSCRIPTIONS. 

'Twas  then  my  future  fate  he  weigh'd, 
And,  this  be  thy  concern,  he  said, 
At  once  with  Passion's  keen  alarms, 
And  Beauty's  pleasurable  charms, 
And  sacred  Truth's  eternal  light, 
To  move  the  various  mind  of  Man ; 
Till,  under  one  unblemish'd  plan, 
His  Reason,  Fancy,  and  his  Heart  unite. 


409 


AN   EPISTLE   TO   CURIO.* 

THRICE  has  the  spring  beheld  thy  faded  fame, 
And  the  fourth  winter  rises  on  thy  shame, 
Since  I,  exulting,  grasp'd  the  votive  shell, 
In  sounds  of  triumph  all  thy  praise  to  tell ; 
Blest  could  my  skill  through  ages  make  thee  shine, 
And  proud  to  mix  my  memory  with  thine. 
But  now  the  cause  that  wak'd  my  song  before, 
With  praise,  with  triumph,  crowns  the  toil  no  more. 
If  to  the  glorious  man  whose  faithful  cares, 
Nor  quell'd  by  malice,  nor  relax'd  by  years, 
Had  aw'd  Ambition's  wild  audacious  hate, 
And  dragg'd  at  length  Corruption  to  her  fate ; 
If  every  tongue  its  large  applauses  ow'd, 
And  well-earn'd  laurels  every  Muse  bestow'd; 
If  public  Justice  urg'd  the  high  reward, 
And  Freedom  smil'd  on  the  devoted  bard ; 

*  First  published  in  the  year  1744,  when  a  celebrated 
patriot,  after  a  long,  and  at  last  successful  opposition  to  an 
unpopular  minister,  had  deserted  the  cause  of  his  country, 
and  become  the  foremost  in  support  and  defence  of  the  same 
measures  he  had  so  steadily  and  for  such  a  length  of  time 
contended  againsk  It  was  afterwards  altered  into  an  "  Ode 
to  Curio."  S^o  p.  300. 

Curio  was  a  young  Roman  senator  of  distinguished  birth 
and  parts,  who,  upon  his  first  entrance  into  the  forum,  had 
been  committed  to  the  care  of  Cicero.  Being  profuse  and 
extravagant,  he  soon  dissipated  a  large  and  splendid  fortune; 
to  supply  the  want  of  which,  he  was  driven  to  the  necessity 
of  abetting  the  designs  of  Csesar  against  the  liberties  of  his 
country,  although  he  had  before  been  a  professed  enemy  to 
him.  'Cicero  exerted  himself  with  great  energy  to  prevent 
his  ruin,  but  without  effect,  and  he  became  one  of  the  first 
victims  in  the  civil  war. 


410  AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO. 

Say  then,  to  him  whose  levity  or  lust 
Laid  all  a  people's  generous  hopes  in  dust ; 
"Who  taught  Ambition  firmer  heights  of  power, 
And  sav'd  Corruption  at  her  hopeless  hour ; 
Does  not  each  tongue  its  execrations  owe  ? 
Shall  not  each  Muse  a  wreath  of  shame  bestow  ? 
And  public  Justice  sanctify  the  award  ? 
And  Freedom's  hand  protect  the  impartial  bard? 

Yet  long  reluctant  I  forbore  thy  name, 
Long  watch'd  thy  virtue  like  a  dying  flame, 
Hung  o'er  each  glimmering  spark  with  anxious  eyes, 
And  wish'd  and  hop'd  the  light  again  would  rise. 
But  since  thy  guilt  still  more  entire  appears, 
Since  no  art  hides,  no  supposition  clears ; 
Since  vengeful  Slander  now  too  sinks  her  blast, 
'And  .the  first  rage  of  Party -hate  is  past ; 
Calm  as  the  judge  of  truth,  at  length  I  come 
To  weigh  thy  merits,  and  pronounce  thy  doom : 
So  may  my  trust  from  all  reproach  be  free  ; 
And  Earth  and  Time  confirm  the  fair  decree. 

There  are  who  say  they  view'd  without  amaze 
The  sad  reverse  of  all  thy  former  praise  : 
That,  through  the  pageants  of  a  patriot's  name, 
They  pierc'd  the  foulness  of  thy  secret  aim  ; 
Or  deem'd  thy  arm  exalted  but  to  throw 
The  public  thunder  on  a  private  foe. 
But  I,  whose  soul  consented  to  thy  cause, 
Who  felt  thy  genius  stamp  its  own  applause, 
Who  saw  the  spirits  of  each  glorious  age 
Move  in  thy  bosom,  and  direct  thy  rage  ; 


AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO.  411 

I  scornM  the  ungenerous  gloss  of  slavish  minds, 
The  owl-eyM  race,  whom  Virtue's  lustre  blinds. 
Spite  of  the  learned  in  the  ways  of  vice, 
And  all  who  prove  that  "  each  man  has  his  price," 
I  still  believ'd  thy  end  was  just  and  free  ; 
And  yet,  even  yet  believe  it  —  spite  of  thee. 
Even  though  thy  mouth  impure  has  dared  disclaim, 
Urg'd  by  the  wretched  impotence  of  shame, 
Whatever  filial  cares  thy  zeal  had  paid 
To  laws  infirm,  and  liberty  decay'd ; 
Has  begg'd  Ambition  to  forgive  the  show ; 
Has  told  Corruption  thou  wert  ne'er  her  foe ; 
Has  boasted  in  thy  country's  awful  ear, 
Her  gross  delusion  when  she  held  thee  dear ; 
How  tame  she  follow'd  thy  tempestuous  call, 
And  heard  thy  pompous  tales,  and  trusted  all. — 
Rise  from  your  sad  abodes,  ye  curst  of  old 
For  laws  subverted,  and  for  cities  sold ! 
Paint  all  the  noblest  trophies  of  your  guilt, 
The  oaths  you  perjur'd,  and  the  blood  you  spilt; 
Yet  must  you  one  untempted  vileness  own, 
One  dreadful  palm  reserv'd  for  him  alone ; 
"With  studied  arts  his  country's  praise  to  spurn, 
To  beg  the  infamy  he  did  not  earn, 
To  challenge  hate  when  honour  was  his  due, 
And  plead  his  crimes  where  all  his  virtue  knew. 
Do  robes  of  state  the  guarded  heart  enclose 
From  each  fair  feeling  human  nature  knows  ? 
Can  pompous  titles  stun  the  enchanted  ear 
To  all  that  reason,  all  that  sense  would  hear  ? 


412  AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO. 

Else  could  [st]  thou  e'er  desert  thy  sacred  post, 
In  such  unthankful  baseness  to  be  lost? 
Else  couldst  thou  wed  the  emptiness  of  vice, 
And  yield  thy  glories  at  an  idiot's  price  ? 

When  they  who,  loud  for  liberty  and  laws, 
In  doubtful  times  had  fought  their  country's  cause, 
When  now  of  conquest  and  dominion  sure, 
They  sought  alone  to  hold  their  fruits  secure ; 
When  taught  by  these,  Oppression  hid  the  face, 
To  leave  Corruption  stronger  in  her  place, 
By  silent  spells  to  work  the  public  fate, 
And  taint  the  vitals  of  the  passive  state, 
Till  healing  Wisdom  should  avail  no  more, 
And  Freedom  loathe  to  tread  the  poison'd  shore ; 
Then,  like  some  guardian  god  that  flies  to  save 
The  weary  pilgrim  from  an  instant  grave, 
Whom,  sleeping  and  secure,  the  guileful  snake 
Steals  near  and  nearer  thro'  the  peaceful  brake  ; 
Then  Curio  rose  to  ward  the  public  woe, 
To  wake  the  heedless,  and  incite  the  slow, 
Against  Corruption  Liberty  to  arm, 
And  quell  the  enchantress  by  a  mightier  charm. 

Swift  o'er  the  land  the  fair  contagion  flew, 
And  with  thy  country's  hopes  thy  honours  grew. 
Thee,  patriot,  the  patrician  roof  confess'd ; 
Thy  powerful  voice  the  rescued  merchant  bless'd; 
Of  thee  with  awe  the  rural  hearth  resounds ; 
The  bowl  to  thee  the  grateful  sailor  crowns ; 
Touch'd  in  the  sighing  shade  with  manlier  fires, 
To  trace  thy  steps  the  love-sick  youth  aspires ; 


AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO.  413 

The  learn'd  recluse,  who  oft  amaz'd  had  read 
Of  Grecian  heroes,  Roman  patriots  dead, 
With  new  amazement  hears  a  living  name 
Pretend  to  share  in  such  forgotten  fame ; 
And  he  who,  scorning  courts  and  courtly  ways, 
Left  the  tame  track  of  these  dejected  days, 
The  life  of  nobler  ages  to  renew 
In  virtues  sacred  from  a  monarch's  view, 
Rous'd  by  thy  labours  from  the  blest  retreat, 
Where  social  ease  and  public  passions  meet, 
Again  ascending  treads  the  civil  scene, 
To  act  and  be  a  man,  as  thou  hadst  been. 

Thus  by  degrees  thy  cause  superior  grew, 
And  the  great  end  appear'd  at  last  in  view : 
We  heard  the  people  in  thy  hopes  rejoice, 
We  saw  the  senate  bending  to  thy  voice ; 
The  friends  of  freedom  hail'd  the  approaching  reign 
Of  laws  for  which  our  fathers  bled  in  vain ; 
While  venal  Faction,  struck  with  new  dismay, 
Shrunk  at  their  frown,  and  self-abandon'd  lay. 
Wak'd  in  the  shock,  the  public  Genius  rose, 
Abash'd  and  keener  from  his  long  repose ; 
Sublime  in  ancient  pride,  he  rais'd  the  spear 
Which  slaves  and  tyrants  long  were  wont  to  fear. 
The  city  felt  his  call ;  from  man  to  man, 
From  street  to  street,  the  glorious  horror  ran ; 
Eacli  crowded  haunt  was  stirr'd  beneath  his  power, 
And,  murmuring,  challeng'd  the  decided  hour. 

Lo  !  the  deciding  hour  at  last  appears  ; 
The  hour  of  every  freeman's  hopes  and  fears ! 


414  AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO. 

Thou,  Genius  !  guardian  of  the  Roman  name, 
O  ever  prompt  tyrannic  rage  to  tame, 
Instruct  the  mighty  moments  as  they  roll, 
And  guide  each  movement  steady  to  the  goal ! 
Ye  spirits  by  whose  providential  art 
Succeeding  motives  turn  the  changeful  heart, 
Keep,  keep  the  best  in  view  to  Curio's  mind, 
And  watch  his  fancy,  and  his  passions  bind  ! 
Ye  shades  immortal,  who,  by  Freedom  led, 
Or  in  the  field  or  on  the  scaffold  bled, 
Bend  from  your  radiant  seats  a  joyful  eye, 
And  view  the  crown  of  all  your  labours  nigh. 
See  Freedom  mounting  her  eternal  throne, 
The  sword  submitted,  and  the  laws  her  own  ; 
See  public  power  chastis'd  beneath  her  stands, 
With  eyes  intent,  and  uncorrupted  hands  ; 
See  private  life  by  wisest  arts  reclaim'd  ;  9 

See  ardent  youth  to  noblest  manners  fram'd ; 
See.  us  acquire  whate'er  was  sought  by  you, 
If  Curio,  only  Curio,  will  be  true. 

'T  was  then —  O  shame  !     O  trust  how  ill  repaid ! 
O  Latium,  oft  by  faithless  sons  betray'd !  — 
'Twas  then  —  What  frenzy  on  thy  reason  stole  ? 
What  spells  unsinew'd  thy  determin'd  soul  ? 
—  Is  this  the  man  in  Freedom's  cause  approv'd  ? 
The  man  so  great,  so  honour'd,  so  belov'd  ? 
This  patient  slave  by  tinsel  chains  allur'd  ? 
This  wretched  suitor  for  a  boon  abjur'd  ? 
This  Curio,  hated  and  despis'd  by  all, 
Who  fell  himself,  to  work  his  country's  fall  ? 


AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO.  415 

O  lost,  alike  to  action  and  repose, 
Unknown,  unpitied  in  the  worst  of  woes  ; 
With  all  that  conscious,  tmdissembled  pride, 
Sold  to  the  insults  of  a  foe  defied  ; 
With  all  that  habit  of  familiar  fame, 
Doom'd  to  exhaust  the  dregs  of  life  in  shame ; 
The  sole  sad  refuge  of  thy  baffled  art 
To  act  a  statesman's  dull,  exploded  part, 
Renounce  the  praise  no  longer  in  thy  power, 
Display  thy  virtue,  though  without  a  dower, 
Contemn  the  giddy  crowd,  the  vulgar  wind, 
And  shut  thy  eyes  that  others  may  be  blind ! 
—  Forgive  me,  Romans,  that  I  bear  to  smile, 
When  shameless  mouths  your  majesty  defile, 
Paint  you  a  thoughtless,  frantic,  headlong  crew, 
And  cast  their  own  impieties  on  you. 
For  witness,  Freedom,  to  whose  sacred  power 
My  soul  was  vow'd  from  reason's  earliest  hour, 
How  have  I  stood,  exulting  to  survey 
My  country's  virtues,  opening  in  thy  ray ! 
How,  with  the  sons  of  every  foreign  shore 
The  more  I  match'd  them,  honour'd  hers  the  more ! 
O  race  erect !  whose  native  strength  of  soul, 
Which  kings,  nor  priests,  nor  sordid  laws  control, 
Bursts  the  tame  round  of  animal  affairs, 
And  seeks  a  noble  centre  for  its  cares  ; 
Intent  the  laws  of  life  to  comprehend, 
And  fix  dominion's  limits  by  its  end. 
Who,  bold  and  equal  in  their  love  or  hate, 
By  conscious  reason  judging  every  state, 


416  AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO. 

The  man  forget  not,  though  in  rags  he  lies, 

And  know  the  mortal  through  a  crown's  disguise : 

Thence  prompt  alike  with  witty  scorn  to  view 

Fastidious  Grandeur  lift  his  solemn  brow, 

Or,  all  awake  at  pity's  soft  command, 

Bend  the  mild  ear,  and  stretch  the  gracious  hand 

Thence  large  of  heart,  from  envy  far  remov'd, 

When  public  toils  to  virtue  stand  approv'd, 

Not  the  young  lover  fonder  to  admire, 

Not  more  indulgent  the  delighted  sire  ; 

Yet  high  and  jealous  of  their  free-born  name, 

Fierce  as  the  flight  of  Jove's  destroying  flame, 

Where'er  Oppression  works  her  wanton  sway, 

Proud  to  confront,  and  dreadful  to  repay. 

But  if  to  purchase  Curio's  sage  applause, 

My  country  must  with  him  renounce  her  cause, 

Quit  with  a  slave  the  path  a  patriot  trod,         % 

Bow  the  meek  knee,  and  kiss  the  regal  rod ; 

Then  still,  ye  powers,  instruct  his  tongue  to  rail, 

Nor  let  his  zeal,  nor  let  his  subject  fail : 

Else,  ere  he  change  the  style,  bear  me  away 

To  where  the  Gracchi*  where  the  Bruti  stay  ! 

O  long  rever'd,  and  late  resign'd  to  shame, 
If  this  uncourtly  page  thy  notice  claim, 
When  the  loud  cares  of  business  are  withdrawn, 
Nor  well-drest  beggars  round  thy  footsteps  fawn  ; 


*  The  two  brothers,  Tiberius  and  Gains  Gracchus,  lost  their 
lives  in  attempting  to  introduce  the  only  regulation  that  could 
give  stability  and  good  order  to  the  Roman  republic.  L.  Junius 
Brutus  founded  the  commonwealth,  and  died  in  its  defence. 


AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO.  417 

In  that  still,  thoughtful,  solitary  hour, 
When  Truth  exerts  her  unresisted  power, 
Breaks  the  false  optics  ting'd  with  fortune's  glare, 
Unlocks  the  breast,  and  lays  the  passions  bare ; 
Then  turn  thy  eyes  on  that  important  scene, 
And  ask  thyself  if  all  be  well  within ! 
Where  is  the  heart-felt  worth,  and  weight  of  soul, 
Which  labour  could  not  stop,  nor  fear  control  ? 
Where  the  known  dignity,  the  stamp  of  awe, 
Which,  half  abash'd,  the  proud  and  venal  saw  ? 
Where  the  calm  triumphs  of  an  honest  cause  ? 
Where  the  delightful  taste  of  just  applause  ? 
Where  the  strong  reason,  the  commanding  tongue, 
On  which  the  senate  fir'd  or  trembling  hung  ? 
All  vanish'd,  all  are  sold ;  and  in  their  room, 
Couch'd  in  thy  bosom's  deep,  distracted  gloom, 
See  the  pale  form  of  barbarous  Grandeur  dwell, 
Like  some  grim  idol  in  a  sorcerer's  cell ! 
To  her  in  chains  thy  dignity  was  led ; 
At  her  polluted  shrine  thy  honour  bled ; 
With  blasted  weeds  thy  awful  brow  she  crown'd, 
Thy  powerful  tongue  with  poison'd  philters  bound, 
That  baffled  Reason  straight  indignant  flew, 
And  fair  Persuasion  from  her  seat  withdrew : 
For  now  no  longer  Truth  supports  thy  cause  ; 
No  longer  Glory  prompts  thee  to  applause  ; 
No  longer  Virtue  breathing  in  thy  breast, 
With  all  her  conscious  majesty  confest, 
Still  bright  and  brighter  wakes  the  almighty  flame, 
To  rouse  the  feeble,  and  the  wilful  tame, 


-US  AN    EPISTLE    TO    CURIO. 

And  where  she  sees  the  catching  glimpses  roll, 
Spreads  the  strong  blaze,  and  all  involves  the  soul ; 
But  cold  restraints  thy  conscious  fancy  chill, 
And  formal  passions  mock  thy  struggling  will ; 
Or  if  thy  Genius  e'er  forget  his  chain, 
And  reach  impatient  at  a  nobler  strain, 
Soon  the  sad  bodings  of  contemptuous  mirth 
Shoot  thro'  thy  breast,  and  stab  the  generous  birth, 
Till,  blind  with  smart,  from  truth  to  frenzy  tost, 
And  all  the  tenor  of  thy  reason  lost, 
Perhaps  thy  anguish  drains  a  real  tear ; 
While  some  with  pity,  some  with  laughter  hear. 
—  Can  art,  alas !  or  genius  guide  the  head, 
Where  truth  and  freedom  from  the  heart  are  fled  ? 
Can  lesser  wheels  repeat  their  native  stroke, 
When  the  prime  function  of  the  soul  is  broke  ? 
But  come,  unhappy  man !  thy  fates  impend ; 
Come,  quit  thy  friends,  if  yet  thou  hast  a  friend ; 
Turn  from  the  poor  rewards  of  guilt  like  thine, 
Renounce  thy  titles,  and  thy  robes  resign ; 
For  see  the  hand  of  Destiny  display'd 
To  shut  thee  from  the  joys  thou  hast  betray'd ! 
See  the  dire  fane  of  Infamy  arise, 
Dark  as  the  grave,  and  spacious  as  the  skies  ; 
Where,  from  the  first  of  time,  thy  kindred  train, 
The  chiefs  and  princes  of  the  unjust  remain. 
Eternal  barriers  guard  the  pathless  road 
To  warn  the  wanderer  of  the  curst  abode ; 
But  prone  as  whirlwinds  scour  the  passive  sky, 
The  heights  surmounted,  down  the  steep  they  fly. 


AN    EPISTLE   TO    CURIO.  419 

There,  black  with  frowns,  relentless  Time  awaits, 
And  goads  their  footsteps  to  the  guilty  gates  ; 
And  still  he  asks  them  of  their  unknown  aims, 
Evolves  their  secrets,  and  their  guilt  proclaims ; 
And  still  his  hands  despoil  them  on  the  road 
Of  each  vain  wreath,  by  lying  bards  bestow'd ; 
Break  their  proud  marbles,  crush  their  festal  cars, 
And  rend  the  lawless  trophies  of  their  wars. 
At  last  the  gates  his  potent  voice  obey ; 
Fierce  to  their  dark  abode  he  drives  his  prey ; 
Where,  ever  arm'd  with  adamantine  chains, 
The  watchful  demon  o'er  her  vassals  reigns, 
O'er  mighty  names  and  giant-powers  of  lust, 
The  great,  the  sage,  the  happy,  and  august.* 
No  gleam  of  hope  their  baleful  mansion  cheers, 
No  sound  of  honour  hails  their  unblest  ears ; 
But  dire  reproaches  from  the  friend  betray'd, 
The  childless  sire,  and  violated  maid  ; 
But  vengeful  vows  for  guardian  laws  effac'd, 
From  towns  enslav'd,  and  continents  laid  waste ; 
But  long  posterity's  united  groan, 
And  the  sad  charge  of  horrors  not  their  own, 
For  ever  through  the  trembling  space  resound, 
And  sink  each  impious  forehead  to  the  ground. 

Ye  mighty  foes  of  liberty  and  rest, 
Give  way,  do  homage  to  a  mightier  guest ! 
Ye  daring  spirits  of  the  Roman  race, 
See  Curio's  toil  your  proudest  claims  efface ! 

*  Titles  which  have  been  generally  ascribed  to  the  most 
pernicious  of  men. 


420  AN    EPISTLE   TO    CURIO. 

—  Aw'd  at  the  name,  fierce  Appius  *  rising  bends, 
And  hardy  Cinna  from  his  throne  attends  : 
"  He  comes,"  they  cry, "  to  whom  the  fates  assign'cl 
With  surer  arts  to  work  what  we  design'd, 
From  year  to  year  the  stubborn  herd  to  sway, 
Mouth  all  their  wrongs,  and  all  their  rage  obey ; 
Till  own'd  their  guide,  and  trusted  with  their  power, 
He  mock'd  their  hopes  in  one  decisive  hour ; 
Then,  tir'd  and  yielding,  led  them  to  the  chain, 
And  quench'd  the  spirit  we  provok'd  in  vain." 
But  thou,  Supreme,  by  whose  eternal  hands 
Fair  Liberty's  heroic  empire  stands ; 
Whose  thunders  the  rebellious  deep  control, 
And  quell  the  triumphs  of  the  traitor's  soul, 
0  turn  this  dreadful  omen  far  away ! 
On  Freedom's  foes  their  own  attempts  repay : 
Relume  her  sacred  fire,  so  near  suppress'd, 
And  fix  her  shrine  in  every  Roman  breast. 
Though  bold  corruption  boast  around  the  land, 
"  Let  virtue,  if  she  can,  my  baits  withstand ; " 
Though  bolder  now  she  urge  the  accursed  claim, 
Gay  with  her  trophies  rais'd  on  Curio's  shame ; 
Yet  some  there  are  who  scorn  her  impious  mirth, 
Who  know  what  conscience  and  a  heart  are  worth. 

0  Friend  and  Father  of  the  human  mind, 
Whose  art  for  noblest  ends  our  frame  design'd, 
If  I,  though  fated  to  the  studious  shade 
Which  party -strife  nor  anxious  power  invade ; 

*  Appius  Claudius  the  Decemvir,  and  L.  Cornelius  Cinna, 
both  attempted  to  establish  a  tyrannical  dominion  in  Rome, 
and  both  perished  by  the  treason. 


THE    VIRTUOSO.  421 

If  I  aspire,  in  public  virtue's  cause, 

To  guide  the  Muses  by  sublimer  laws ; 

Do  thou  her  own  authority  impart, 

And  give  my  numbers  entrance  to  the  heart. 

Perhaps  the  verse  might  rouse  her  smother'd  flame, 

And  snatch  the  fainting  patriot  back  to  fame ; 

Perhaps,  by  worthy  thoughts  of  human  kind, 

To  worthy  deeds  exalt  the  conscious  mind ; 

Or  dash  Corruption  in  her  proud  career, 

And  teach  her  slaves  that  Vice  was  born  to  fear. 


THE   VIRTUOSO;19 

IN  IMITATION  OF   SPENSER'S    STYLE  AND    STANZA. 


Videmus 

Nugari  solitos.  —  PERSIUS. 

WHILOM  by  silver  Thames's  gentle  stream, 
In  London  town  there  dwelt  a  subtile  wight ; 

A  wight  of  mickle  wealth  and  mickle  fame, 
Book-learn'd  and  quaint ;  a  Virtuoso  hight. 

Uncommon  things,  and  rare,  were  his  delight ; 
From  musings  deep  his  brain  ne'er  gotten  ease, 

Nor  ceasen  he  from  study,  day  or  night ; 
Until  (advancing  onward  by  degrees) 
He  knew  whatever  breeds  on  earth,  or  air,  or 
seas. 


422  THE    VIRTUOSO. 

He  many  a  creature  did  anatomize, 

Almost  unpeopling  water,  air,  and  land  ; 

Beasts,  fishes,  birds,  snails,  caterpillars,  flies, 
Were  laid  full  low  by  his  relentless  hand, 

That  oft  with  gory  crimson  was  distain'd :  - 
He  many  a  dog  destroy'd,  and  many  a  cat ; 

Of  fleas  his  bed,  of  frogs  the  marshes  drain'd, 
Could  tellen  if  a  mite  were  lean  or  fat, 
And  read  a  lecture  o'er  the  entrails  of  a  gnat. 

He  knew  the  various  modes  of  ancient  times, 

Their  arts  and  fashions  of  each  different  guise, 
Their  weddings,  funerals,  punishments  for  crimes, 

Their  strength,  their  learning  eke,  and  rarities ; 
Of  old  habiliments,  each  sort  and  size, 

Male,  female,  high  and  low,  to  him  were  known ; 
Each  gladiator-dress,  and  stage  disguise ; 

With  learned,  clerkly  phrase  he  could  have  shown 

How  the  Greek  tunic  differ'd  from  the  Roman 

[gown. 
A  curious  medallist,  I  wot,  he  was, 

And  boasted  many  a  course  of  ancient  coin ; 
Well  as  his  wife's  he  knewen  every  face, 

From  Julius  Caesar  down  to  Constantine  : 
For  some  rare  sculpture  he  would  oft  ypine, 

(As  green-sick  damosels  for  husbands  do ;) 
And  when  obtained,  with  enraptur'd  eyne, 

He'd  run  it  o'er  and  o'er  with  greedy  view, 

And  look,  and  look  again,  as  he  would  look  it 
through.  „ 


THE    VIRTUOSO.  42$ 

His  rich  museum,  of  dimensions  fair,      -  [fraught  * 
With  goods  that  spoke  the  owner's  mind  was 

Things  ancient,  curious,  value-worth,  and  rare, 
From  sea  and  land,  from    Greece   and    Rome 
were  brought, 

Which  he  with  mighty  sums  of  gold  had  bought : 
On  these  all  tides  with  joyous  eyes  he  por'd  ^ 

And,  sooth  to  say,  himself  he  greater  thought, 
When  he  beheld  his  cabinets  thus  stor'd, 
Than  if  he'd  been  of  Albion's  wealthy  cities  lord. 

Here  in  a  corner  stood  a  rich  scrutoire, 

With  many  a  curiosity  replete ; 
In  seemly  order  furnish'd  every  drawer, 

Products  of  art  or  nature  as  was  meet ; 
Air-pumps  and  prisms  were  plac'd  beneath  his  feet, 

A  Memphian  mummy-king  hung  o'er  his  head; 
Here  phials  with  live  insects  small  and  great, 

There  stood  a  tripod  of  the  Pythian  maid ; 

Above,  a  crocodile  diffus'd  a  grateful  shade.  ~" 

Fast  by  the  window  did  a  table  stand, 

Where  hodiern  and  antique  rarities,  [land, 

From  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome,  from  sea  and 
Were  thick-besprent  of  every  sort  and  size  :  — 

Here  a  Bahaman-spider's  carcass  lies, 

There  a  dire  serpent's  golden  skin  doth  shine ; 

Here  Indian  feathers,  fruits,  and  glittering  flies ; 
There  gums  and  amber  found  beneath  the  line, 
The  beak  of  Ibis  here,  and  there  an  Antonine. 


424  THE    VIRTUOSO. 

Close  at  his  back,  or  whispering  in  his  ear, 

There  stood  a  spright  ycleped  Phantasy ;  " 
Which,  wheresoe'er  he  went,  was  always  near: 

Her  look  was  wild,  and  roving  was  her  eye ; 
Her  hair  was  clad  with  flowers  of  every  dye ;  - 

Her  glistering  robes  were  of  more  various  hue 
Than  the  fair  bow  that  paints  the  cloudy  sky, 

Or  all  the  spangled  drops  of  morning  dew ; 

Their  colour  changing  still  at  every  different 

[view. 
Yet  in  this  shape  all  tides  she  did  not  stay, 

Various  as  the  chameleon  that  she  bore ; 
Now  a  grand  monarch  with  a  crown  of  hay, 

Now  mendicant  in  silks  and  golden  ore  : 
A  statesman,  now  equipp'd  to  chase  the  boar, 

Or  cowled  monk,  lean,  feeble,  and  unfed ; 
A  clown-like  lord,  or  swain  of  courtly  lore ; 

Now  scribbling  dunce  in  sacred  laurel  clad, 

Or  papal  father  now,  in  homely  weeds  array'd. 

The  wight  whose  brain  this  phantom's  power  doth 
fill, 

On  whom  she  doth  with  constant  care  attend, 
Will  for  a  dreadful  giant  take  a  mill, 

Or  a  grand  palace  in  a  hog-stye  find  : 
(From  her  dire  influence  me  may  heaven  defend !) 

All  things  with  vitiated  sight  he  spies ; 
Neglects  his  family,  forgets  his  friend, 

Seeks  painted  trifles  and  fantastic  toys, 

And  eagerly  pursues  imaginary  joys. 


425 


AMBITION  AND   CONTENT.20 

A   FABLE. 

Optat  quietem.  —  HOE. 

WHILE  yet  the  world  was  young,  and  men  were  few, 
Nor  lurking  fraud,  nor  tyrant  rapine  knew, 
In  virtue  rude,  the  gaudy  arts  they  scorn'd, 
Which,  virtue  lost,  degenerate  times  adorn'd : 
No  sumptuous  fabrics  yet  were  seen  to  rise, 
Nor  gushing  fountains  taught  to  invade  the  skies  ; 
With  nature,  art  had  not  begun  the  strife, 
Nor  swelling  marble  rose  to  mimic  life  ; 
No  pencil  yet  had  learn'd  to  express  the  fair ; 
The  bounteous  earth  was  all  their  homely  care. 

Then  did  Content  exert  her  genial  sway, 
And  taught  the  peaceful  world  her  power  to  obey  ; 
Content,  a  female  of  celestial  race, 
Bright  and  complete  in  each  celestial  grace. 
Serenely  fair  she  was,  as  rising  day, 
And  brighter  than  the  sun's  meridian  ray ; 
Joy  of  all  hearts,  delight  of  every  eye, 
Nor  grief  nor  pain  appear'd  when  she  was  by  ; 
Her  presence  from  the  wretched  banish'd  care, 
Dispers'd  the  swelling  sigh  and  stopt  the  falling  tear. 

Long  did  the  nymph  her  regal  state  maintain, 
As  long  mankind  were  blest  beneath  her  reign  ; 
Till  dire  Ambition,  hellish  fiend,  arose, 
To  plague  the  world,  and  banish  man's  repose : 

2E 


426  AMBITION    AND    CONTENT. 

A  monster  sprung  from  that  rebellious  crew, 

Which  mighty  Jove's  Phlegraean  thunder  slew. 

Resolv'd  to  dispossess  the  royal  fair, 

On  all  her  friends  he  threaten'd  open  war : 

Fond  of  the  novelty,  vain,  fickle  man, 

In  crowds  to  his  infernal  standard  ran ; 

And  the  weak  maid,  defenceless  left  alone, 

To  avoid  his  rage,  was  forc'd  to  quit  the  throne. 

It  chanc'd  as  wandering  thro'  the  fields  she  stray'd, 
Forsook  of  all,  and  destitute  of  aid, 
Upon  a  rising  mountain's  flowery  side, 
A  pleasant  cottage  roof 'd  with  turf  she  spied : 
Fast  by  a  gloomy,  venerable  wood 
Of  shady  planes  and  ancient  oaks  it  stood. 
Around  a  various  prospect  charm'd  the  sight; 
Here  waving  harvests  clad  the  field  with  white ; 
Here  a  rough  shaggy  rock  the  clouds  did  pierce, 
From  which  a  torrent  rush'd  with  rapid  force  ; 
Here  mountain- woods  diffus'd  a  dusky  shade ; 
Here  flocks  and  herds  in  flowery  valleys  play'd, 
While  o'er  the  matted  grass  the  liquid  crystal  stray'd. 
In  this  sweet  place  there  dwelt  a  cheerful  pair, 
Though  bent  beneath  the  weight  of  many  a  year ; 
Who,  wisely  flying  public  noise  and  strife, 
In  this  obscure  retreat  had  pass'd  their  life  ; 
The  husband  Industry  was  call'd,  Frugality  the  wife. 
With  tenderest  friendship  mutually  blest, 
No  household  jars  had  e'er  disturb'd  their  rest. 
A  numerous  offspring  grac'd  their  homely  board, 
That  still  with  nature's  simple  gifts  was  stor'd. 


AMBITION    AND    CONTENT.  427 

The  father  rural  business  only  knew ; 

The  sons  the  same  delightful  art  pursue. 

An  only  daughter,  as  a  goddess  fair, 

Above  the  rest  was  the  fond  mother's  care ; 

Plenty  ;  the  brightest  nymph  of  all  the  plain, 

Each  heart's  delight,  ador'd  by  every  swain. 

Soon  as  Content  this  charming  scene  espied, 

Joyful  within  herself  the  goddess  cried : 

"  This  happy  sight  my  drooping  heart  doth  raise ; 

The  gods,  I  hope,  will  grant  me  gentler  days. 

When  with  prosperity  my  life  was  blest, 

In  yonder  house  I've  been  a  welcome  guest : 

There  now,  perhaps,  I  may  protection  find ; 

For  royalty  is  banish'd  from  my  mind. 

I'll  thither  haste :  how  happy  should  I  be, 

If  such  a  refuge  were  reserv'd  for  me ! "         [way 

Thus  spoke  the  fair ;  and  straight  she  bent  her 
To  the  tall  mountain,  where  the  cottage  lay : 
Arriv'd,  she  makes  her  chang'd  condition  known ; 
Tells  how  the  rebels  drove  her  from  the  throne ; 
What  painful,  dreary  wilds  she'd  wander'd  o'er ; 
And  shelter  from  the  tyrant  doth  implore. 

The  faithful,  aged  pair  at  once  were  seiz'd 
With  joy  and  grief,  at  once  were  pain'd  and  pleas'd ; 
Grief  for  their  banish'd  queen  their  hearts  possest, 
And  joy  succeeded  for  their  future  guest : 
"  And  if  you'll  deign,  bright  goddess,  here  to  dwell, 
And  with  your  presence  grace  our  humble  cell, 
Whate'er  the  gods  have  given  with  bounteous  hand, 
Our  harvests,  fields,  and  flocks,  our  all  command." 


128  AMBITION    AND    CONTENT. 

Meantime,  Ambition,  on  his  rival's  flight, 
Sole  lord  of  man.  attain'd  his  wish's  height ; 
Of  all  dependence  on  his  subjects  eas'd, 
He  rag'd  without  a  curb,  and  did  whate'er  he  pleas'd ; 
As  some  wild  flame,  driven  on  by  furious  winds, 
Wide  spreads  destruction,  nor  resistance  finds ; 
So  rush'd  the  fiend  destructive  o'er  the  plain, 
Defac'd  the  labours  of  the  industrious  swain ; 
Polluted  every  stream  with  human  gore, 
And  scatter'd  plagues  and  death  from  shore  to  shore. 

Great  Jove  beheld  it  from  the  Olympian  towers. 
Where  sate  assembled  all  the  heavenly  powers ; 
Then  with  a  nod  that  shook  the  empyrean  throne, 
Thus  the  Saturnian  thunderer  begun : 
"  You  see,  immortal  inmates  of  the  skies, 
How  this  vile  wretch  almighty  power  defies ; 
His  daring  crimes,  the  blood  which  he  has  spilt, 
Demand  a  torment  equal  to  his  guilt. 
Then,  Cyprian  goddess,  let  thy  mighty  boy 
Swift  to  the  tyrant's  guilty  palace  fly ; 
There  let  him  choose  his  sharpest,  hottest  dart, 
And  with  his  former  rival  wound  his  heart. 
And  thou,  my  son,  (the  god  to  Hermes  said,) 
Snatch  up  thy  wand,  and  plume  thy  heels  and  head ; 
Dart  through  the  yielding  air  with  all  thy  force, 
And  down  to  Pluto's  realms  direct  thy  course ; 
There  rouse  Oblivion  from  her  sable  cave, 
Where  dull  she  sits  by  Lethe's  sluggish  wave ; 
Command  her  to  secure  the  sacred  bound, 
Where  lives  Content  retir'd,  and  all  around 


THE   POET.  429 

Diffuse  the  deepest  glooms  of  Stygian  night, 
And  screen  the  virgin  from  the  tyrant's  sight ; 
That  the  vain  purpose  of  his  life  may  try 
Still  to  explore,  what  still  eludes  his  eye." 
He  spoke ;  loud  praises  shake  the  bright  abode, 
And  all  applaud  the  justice  of  the  god. 


THE   POET:    A  RHAPSODY.21 

OP  all  the  various  lots  around  the  ball, 
Which  fate  to  man  distributes,  absolute ; 
Avert,  ye  gods !  that  of  the  Muse's  son, 
Curs'd  with  dire  poverty !  poor  hungry  wretch  ! 
What  shall  he  do  for  life  ?  he  cannot  work 
With  manual  labour:  shall  those  sacred  hands, 
That  brought  the  counsels  of  the  gods  to  light ; 
Shall  that  inspired  tongue,  which  every  Muse 
Has  touch'd  divine,  to  charm  the  sons  of  men ; 
These  hallow'd  organs !  these !  be  prostitute 
To  the  vile  service  of  some  fool  in  power, 
All  his  behests  submissive  to  perform, 
Howe'er  to  him  ingrateful  ?     Oh !  he  scorns 
The  ignoble  thought ;  with  generous  disdain, 
More  eligible  deeming  it  to  starve, 
Like  his  fam'd  ancestors  renown'd  in  verse, 
Than  poorly  bend  to  be  another's  slave,  — 
Than  feed  and  fatten  in  obscurity. 


430  THE    POET. 

These  are  his  firm  resolves,  which  fate,  nor  time, 

Nor  poverty  can  shake.     Exalted  high 

Tn  garret  vile  he  lives ;  with  remnants  hung 

Of  tapestry.     But  oh !  precarious  state 

Of  this  vain  transient  world  !  all-powerful  time, 

"What  dost  thou  not  subdue  ?     See  what  a  chasm 

Gapes  wide,  tremendous !  see  where  Saul,  enrag'd, 

High  on  his  throne,  encompass'd  by  his  guards, 

With  levell'd  spear,  and  arm  extended,  sits, 

Ready  to  pierce  old  Jesse's  valiant  son, 

Spoil'd  of  his  nose !  —  around  in  tottering  ranks, 

On  shelves  pulverulenty  majestic  stands 

His  library ;  in  ragged  plight,  and  old ; 

Replete  with  many  a  load  of  criticism, 

Elaborate  products  of  the  midnight  toil 

Of  Belgian  brains  ;  snatch'd  from  the  deadly  hands 

Of  murderous  grocer,  or  the  careful  wight, 

Who  vends  the  plant,  that  clads  the  happy  shore 

Of  Indian  Patomack ;  which  citizens 

In  balmy  fumes  exhale,  when,  o'er  a  pot 

Of  sage-inspiring  coffee,  they  dispose 

Of  kings  and  crowns,  and  settle  Europe's  fate. 

Elsewhere  the  dome  is  fill'd  with  various  heaps 
Of  old  domestic  lumber  :  that  huge  chair 
Has  seen  six  monarchs  fill  the  British  throne ; 
Here  a  broad  massy  table  stands,  o'erspread 
With  ink  and  pens,  and  scrolls  replete  with  rhyme ; 
Chests,  stools,  old  razors,  fractur'd  jars,  half  full 
Of  muddy  Zythum,  sour  and  spiritless ; 
Fragments  of  verse,  hose,  sandals,  utensils 


THE    POET.  431 

Of  various  fashion,  and  of  various  use, 
"With  friendly  influence  hide  the  sable  floor. 

This  is  the  bard's  museum,  this  the  fane 
To  Phoebus  sacred,  and  the  Aonian  maids : 
But  oh !  it  stabs  his  heart,  that  niggard  fate 
To  him  in  such  small  measure  should  dispense 
Her  better  gifts :  to  him !  whose  generous  soul 
Could  relish,  with  as  fine  an  elegance, 
The  golden  joys  of  grandeur  and  of  wealth ; 
He  who  could  tyrannize  o'er  menial  slaves, 
Or  swell  beneath  a  coronet  of  state, 
Or  grace  a  gilded  chariot  with  a  mien 
Grand  as  the  haughtiest  Timon  of  them  all. 

But  'tis  in  vain  to  rave  at  destiny. 
Here  he  must  rest  and  brook  the  best  he  can, 
To  live  remote  from  grandeur,  learning,  wit ; 
Immured  amongst  the  ignoble,  vulgar  herd, 
Of  lowest  intellect ;  whose  stupid  souls 
But  half  inform  their  bodies  ;  brains  of  lead 
And  tongues  of  thunder  ;  whose  insensate  breasts 
Ne'er  felt  the  rapturous,  soul-entrancing  fire 
Of  the  celestial  Muse  ;  whose  savage  ears 
Ne'er  heard  the  sacred  rules,  nor  even  the  names 
Of  the  Venusian  bard,  or  critic  sage 
Full-fam'd  of  Stagyra ;  whose  clamorous  tongues 
Stun  the  tormented  ear  with  colloquy, 
Vociferate,  trivial,  or  impertinent ; 
Replete  with  boorish  scandal ;  yet,  alas ! 
This,  this !  he  must  endure,  or  muse  alone, 
Pensive  and  moping  o'er  the  stubborn  rhyme, 


432  THE    POET. 

Or  line  imperfect  —  No !  the  door  is  free, 
And  calls  him  to  evade  their  deafening  clang, 
By  private  ambulation;  —  'tis  resolv'd  : 
Off  from  his  waist  he  throws  the  tatter'd  gown, 
Beheld  with  indignation  ;  and  unloads 
His  pericranium  of  the  weighty  cap, 
With  sweat  and  grease  discolour'd  ;  then  explores 
The  spacious  chest,  and  from  its  hollow  womb 
Draws  his  best  robe,  yet  not  from  tincture  free 
Of  age's  reverend  russet,  scant  and  bare ; 
Then  down  his  meagre  visage  waving  flows 
The  shadowy  peruke  ;  crown'd  with  gummy  hat 
Clean  brush'd ;  a  cane  supports  him.    Thus  equipp'd 
He  sallies  forth ;  swift  traverses  the  streets, 
And  seeks  the  lonely  walk.     "  Hail,  sylvan  scenes, 
Ye  groves,  ye  valleys,  ye  meandering  brooks, 
Admit  me.  to  your  joys,"  in  rapturous  phrase, 
Loud  he  exclaims ;  while  with  the  inspiring  Muse 
His  bosom  labours  ;  and  all  other  thoughts, 
Pleasure  and  wealth,  and  poverty  itself, 
Before  her  influence  vanish.     Rapt  in  thought, 
Fancy  presents  before  his  ravish'd  eyes 
Distant  posterity,  upon  his  page  [sons 

With  transport  dwelling;  while  bright  learning's 
That  ages  hence  must  tread  this  earthly  ball, 
Indignant,  seem  to  curse  the  thankless  age 
That  starv'd  such  merit.     Meantime  swalJow'd  up 
In  meditation  deep,  he  wanders  on, 
Unweeting  of  his  way.  —  But  ah  !  he  starts, 
With  sudden  fright ;  his  glaring  eye-balls  roll, 


THE    POET.  433 

Pale  turn  his  cheeks,  and  shake  his  loosen'd  joints ; 

His  cogitations  vanish  into  air, 

Like  painted  bubbles,  or  a  morning  dream. 

Behold  the  cause  !  see  !  through  the  opening  glade, 

With  rosy  visage,  and  abdomen  grand, 

A  cit,  a  dun !  —  As  in  Apulia's  wilds, 

Or  where  the  Thracian  Hebrus  rolls  his  wave, 

A  heedless  kid,  disportive,  roVes  around, 

Unheeding,  till  upon  the  hideous  cave 

Of  the  dire  wolf  she  treads  ;  half-dead  she  views 

His  bloodshot  eye-balls,  and  his  dreadful  fangs, 

And  swift  as  Eurus  from  the  monster  flies. 

So  fares  the  trembling  bard ;  amaz'd  he  turns, 

Scarce  by  his  legs  upborne ;  yet  fear  supplies 

The  place  of  strength  ;  straight  home  he  bends  his 

Nor  looks  behind  him  till  he  safe  regain     [course, 

His  faithful  citadel ;  there  spent,  fatigu'd, 

He  lays  him  down  to  ease  his  heaving  lungs, 

Quaking,  and  of  his  safety  scarce  convinc'd. 

Soon  as  the  panic  leaves  his  panting  breast, 

Down  to  the  Muse's  sacred  rites  he  sits, 

Volumes  pil'd  round  him  ;  see !  upon  his  brow 

Perplex'd  anxiety,  and  struggling  thought, 

Painful  as  female  throes :  whether  the  bard 

Displays  the  deeds  of  heroes ;  or  the  fall 

Of  vice,  in  lay  dramatic ;  or  expand 

The  lyric  wing ;  or  in  elegiac  strains 

Lament  the  fair ;  or  lash  the  stubborn  age, 

With  laughing  satire ;  or  in  rural  scenes     [brains 

With  shepherds  sport ;    or  rack  his  hard-bound 


434  THE   POET. 

For  the  unexpected  turn.     Arachne  so, 
In  dusty  kitchen  corner,  from  her  bowels 
Spins  the  fine  web ;  but  spins  with  better  fate 
Than   the  poor  bard:   she!   caitiff!    spreads  her 

snares, 

And  with  their  aid  enjoys  luxurious  life, 
Bloated  with  fat  of  insects,  flesh'd  in  blood : 
He  !  hard,  hard  lot !  for  all  his  toil  and  care, 
And  painful  watchings,  scarce  protracts  awhile 
His  meagre,  hungry  days  !  ungrateful  world ! 
If  with  his  drama  he  adorn  the  stage, 
No  worth-discerning  concourse  pays  the  charge, 
Or  of  the  orchestra,  or  the  enlightening  torch. 
He  who  supports  the  luxury  and  pride 
Of  craving  Lais ;  he  !  whose  carnage  fills 
Dogs,  eagles,  lions ;  has  not  yet  enough, 
Wherewith  to  satisfy  the  greedier  maw 
Of  that  most  ravenous,  that  devouring  beast, 
Yclep'd  a  poet.     What  new  Halifax, 
What  Sorners,  or  what  Dorset  canst  thou  find, 
Thou  hungry  mortal?  break,wretch,  break  thy  quill, 
Blot  out  the  studied  image ;  to  the  flames 
Commit  the  Stagyrite ;  leave  this  thankless  trade ; 
Erect  some  peddling  stall,  with  trinkets  stock'd, 
There  earn  thy  daily  halfpence,  nor  again 
Trust  the  false  Muse  ;  so  shall  the  cleanly  meal 
Repel  intruding  hunger.  —  Oh !  'tis  vain, 
The  friendly  admonition's  all  in  vain ; 
The  scribbling  itch  has  seiz'd  him,  he  is  lost 
To  all  advice,  and  starves  for  starving's  sake. 


A   BRITISH   PHILIPPIC.  435 

Thus  sung  the  sportful  Muse,  in  mirthful  mood, 
Indulging  gay  the  frolic  vein  of  youth ; 
But,  O  ye  gods !  avert  the  impending  stroke 
This  luckless  omen  threatens  !     Hark !  methinks 
I  hear  my  better  angel  cry,  "  Retreat, 
Rash  youth  !  in  time  retreat !  let  those  poor  bards 
Who  slighted  all,  all !  for  the  flattering  Muse, 
Yet  curs'd  with  pining  want,  as  landmarks  stand, 
To  warn  thiee  from  the  service  of  the  ingrate." 


A  BRITISH   PHILIPPIC:22 

^x 

OCCASIONED  BY  THE  INSULTS  OF  THE  SPANIARDS,  AND  THE 
PRESENT  PREPARATIONS  FOR  WAR.     1738. 

WHENCE  this  unwonted  transport  in  my  breast  ? 

Why  glow  my  thoughts,  and  whither  would  the  Muse 

Aspire  with  rapid  wing  ?     Her  country's  cause 

Demands  her  efforts  :  at  that  sacred  call 

She  summons  all  her  ardour,  throws  aside 

The  trembling  lyre,  and  with  the  warrior's  trump 

She  means  to  thunder  in  each  British  ear ; 

And,  if  one  spark  of  honour  or  of  fame, 

Disdain  of  insult,  dread  of  infamy, 

One  thought  of  public  virtue  yet  survive, 

She  means  to  wake  it,  rouse  the  generous  flame, 

With  patriot  zeal  inspirit  every  breast, 

And  fire  each  British  heart  with  British  wrongs. 


436  A    BRITISH    PHILIPPIC. 

Alas  the  vain  attempt !  what  influence  now 
Can  the  Muse  boast ;  or  what  attention  now 
Is  paid  to  fame  or  virtue  ?     Where  is  now 
The  British  spirit,  generous,  warm,  and  brave, 
So  frequent  wont  from  tyranny  and  woe 
To  free  the  suppliant  nations  ?     Where,  indeed ! 
If  that  protection,  once  to  strangers  given, 
Be  now  withheld  from  sons  ?    Each  nobler  thought, 
That  warm'd  our  sires,  is  lost  and  buried  now 
In  luxury  and  avarice.     Baneful  vice ! 
How  it  unmans  a  nation !  yet  I'll  try, 
I'll  aim  to  shake  this  vile  degenerate  sloth ; 
I'll  dare  to  rouse  Britannia's  dreaming  sons 
To  fame,  to  virtue,  and  impart  around 
A  generous  feeling  of  compatriot  woes. 

Come  then  the  various  powers  of  forceful  speech, 
All  that  can  move,  awaken,  fire,  transport ! 
Come  the  bold  ardour  of -the  Theban  bard ! 
The  arousing  thunder  of  the  patriot  Greek ! 
The  soft  persuasion  of  the  Roman  sage ! 
Come  all !  and  raise  me  to  an  equal  height, 
A  rapture  worthy  of  my  glorious  cause ! 
Lest  my  best  efforts,  failing,  should  debase 
The  sacred  theme ;  for  with  no  common  wing 
The  Muse  attempts  to  soar.     Yet  what  need  these  ? 
My  country's  fame,  my  free-born  British  heart, 
Shall  be  my  best  inspirers,  raise  my  flight 
High  as  the  Theban's  pinion,  and  with  more 
Than  Greek  or  Roman  flame  exalt  my  soul. 
Oh !  could  I  give  the  vast  ideas  birth 


A   BRITISH   PHILIPPIC.  437 

Expressive  of  the  thoughts  that  flame  within, 

No  more  should  lazy  Luxury  detain 

Our  ardent  youth  ;  no  more  should  Britain's  sons 

Sit  tamely  passive  by,  and  careless  hear 

The  prayers,  sighs,  groans,  (immortal  infamy !) 

Of  fellow  Britons,  with  oppression  sunk, 

In  bitterness  of  soul  demanding  aid, 

Calling  on  Britain,  their  dear  native  land, 

The  land  of  Liberty ;  so  greatly  fam'd 

For  just  redress ;  the  land  so  often  dyed 

With  her  best  blood,  for  that  arousing  cause, 

The  freedom  of  her  sons ;  those  sons  that  now, 

Far  from  the  manly  blessings  of  her  sway, 

Drag  the  vile  fetters  of  a  Spanish  lord. 

And  dare  they,  dare  the  vanquish'd  sons  of  Spain 

Enslave  a  Briton  ?     Have  they  then  forgot, 

So  soon  forgot,  the  great,  the  immortal  day, 

"When  rescued  Sicily  with  joy  beheld 

The  swift-wing'd  thunder  of  the  British  arm 

Disperse  their  navies  ?  when  their  coward  bands 

Fled,  like  the  raven  from  the  bird  of  Jove, 

From  swift  impending  vengeance  fled  in  vain  ? 

Are  these  our  lords  ?     And  can  Britannia  see 

Her  foes,  oft  vanquish'd,  thus  defy  her  power, 

Insult  her  standard,  and  enslave  her  sons, 

And  not  arise  to  justice  1     Did  our  sires, 

Unaw'd  by  chains,  by  exile,  or  by  death, 

Preserve  inviolate  her  guardian  rights, 

To  Britons  ever  sacred !  that  their  sons        [eyes, 

Might  give  them  up  to  Spaniards  ?  —  Turn  your 


438  A   BRITISH   PHILIPPIC. 

Turn,  ye  degenerate,  who  with  haughty  boast 
Call  yourselves  Britons,  to  that  dismal  gloom, 
That  dungeon  dark  and  deep,  where  never  though* 
Of  joy  or  peace  can  enter ;  see  the  gates 
Harsh-creaking  open ;  what  a  hideous  void, 
Dark  as  the  yawning  grave !  while  still  as  death 
A  frightful  silence  reigns.     There  on  the  ground 
Behold  your  brethren  chain'd  like  beasts  of  prey : 
There  mark  your  numerous  glories,  there  behold 
The  look  that  speaks  unutterable  woe ; 
The  mangled  limb,  the  faint,  the  deathful  eye, 
With  famine  sunk,  the  deep  heart-bursting  groan 
Suppress'd  in  silence ;  view  the  loathsome  food, 
Kefus'd  by  dogs,  and  oh  !  the  stinging  thought ! 
View  the  dark  Spaniard  glorying  in  their  wrongs 
The  deadly  priest  triumphant  in. their  woes, 
And  thundering  worse  damnation  on  their  souls : 
While  that  pale  form,  in  all  the  pangs  of  death, 
Too  faint  to  speak,  yet  eloquent  of  all, 
His  native  British  spirit  yet  untam'd, 
Raises  his  head ;  and  with  indignant  frowns 
Of  great  defiance,  and  superior  scorn, 
Looks  up  and  dies.  —  Oh  !  I  am  all  on  fire ! 
But  let  me  spare  the  theme,  lest  future  times 
Should  blush  to  hear  that  either  conquer'd  Spain 
Durst  offer  Britain  such  outrageous  wrong, 
Or  Britain  tamely  bore  it — 
Descend,  ye  guardian  heroes  of  the  land ! 
Scourges  of  Spain,  descend !     Behold  your  sons  ; 
See !  how  they  run  the  same  heroic  race, 


A    BRITISH    PHILIPPIC.  439 

How  prompt,  how  ardent  in  their  country's  cause, 
How  greatly  proud  to  assert  their  British  blood, 
And  in  their  deeds  reflect  their  fathers'  fame ! 
Ah  !  would  to  heaven  ye  did  not  rather  see 
How  dead  to  virtue  in  the  public  cause, 
How  cold,  how  careless,  how  to  glory  deaf, 
They  shame  your  laurels,  and  belie  their  birth ! 

Come,  ye  great  spirits,  Ca'ndish,  Raleigh,  Blake  ! 
And  ye  of  later  name,  your  country's  pride, 
O  eome !  disperse  these  lazy  fumes  of  sloth, 
Teach  British  hearts  with  British  fires  to  glow ! 
In  wakening  whispers  rouse  our  ardent  youth, 
Blazon  the  triumphs  of  your  better  days, 
Paint  all  the  glorious  scenes  of  rightful  war 
In  all  its  splendours ;  to'  their  swelling  souls 
Say  how  ye  bow'd  the  insulting  Spaniards'  pride, 
Say  how  ye  thunder'd  o'er  their  prostrate  heads, 
Say  how  ye  broke  their  lines  and  fir'd  their  ports, 
Say  how  not  death,  in  all  its  frightful  shapes, 
Could  damp  your  souls,  or  shake  the  great  resolve 
For  right  and  Britain :  then  display  the  joys 
The  patriot's  soul  exalting,  while  he  views 
Transported  millions  hail  with  loud  acclaim 
The  guardian  of  their  civil,  sacred  rights ; 
How  greatly  welcome  to  the  virtuous  man 
Is  death  for  others'  good  !  the  radiant  thoughts 
That  beam  celestial  on  his  passing  soul, 
The  unfading  crowns  awaiting  him  above, 
The  exalting  plaudit  of  the  Great  Supreme, 
Who  in  his  actions  with  complacence  views 


440  A    BRITISH    PHILIPPIC. 

His  own  reflected  splendour ;  then  descend, 
Though  to  a  lower,  yet  a  nobler  scene ; 
Paint  the  just  honours  to  his  reliques  paid, 
Show  grateful  millions  weeping  o'er  his  grave  ; 
While 'his  fair  fame  in  each  progressive  age 
For  ever  brightens ;  and  the  wise  and  good 
Of  every  land  in  universal  choir 
With  richest  incense  of  undying  praise 
His  urn  encircle,  to  the  wondering  world 
His  numerous  triumphs  blazon ;  while  with  awe, 
With  filial  reverence,  in  his  steps  they  tread, 
And,  copying  every  virtue,  every  fame, 
Transplant  his  glories  into  second  life, 
And,  with  unsparing  hand,  make  nations  blest 
By  his  example.     Vast,  immense  rewards  ! 
For  all  the  turmoils  which  the  virtuous  mind 
Encounters  here.     Yet,  Britons,  are  ye  cold  ? 
Yet  deaf  to  glory,  virtue,  and  the  call 
Of  your  poor  injured  countrymen  ?     Ah !  no : 
I  see  ye  are  not ;  every  bosom  glows 
With  native  greatness,  and  in  all  its  state 
The  British  spirit  rises  :  glorious  change  ! 
Fame,  virtue,  freedom,  welcome !     O  forgive 
The  Muse,  that,  ardent  in  her  sacred  cause, 
Your  glory  question'd ;  she  beholds  with  joy, 
She  owns,  she  triumphs  in  her  wish'd  mistake. 
See !  from  her  sea-beat  throne  in  awful  march 
Britannia  towers :  upon  her  laurel  crest 
The  plumes  majestic  nod ;  behold  she  heaves 
Her  guardian  shield,  and  terrible  in  arms 


HYMN   TO    SCIENCE.  441 

For  battle  shakes  her  adamantine  spear : 
Loud  at  her  foot  the  British  lion  roars, 
Frighting  the  nations  ;  haughty  Spain  full  soon 
Shall  hear  and  tremble.     Go  then,  Britons,  forth, 
Your  country's  daring  champions  :  tell  your  foes, 
Tell  them  in  thunders  o'er  their  prostrate  land, 
You  were  not  born  for  slaves  :  let  all  your  deeds 
Show  that  the  sons  of  those  immortal  men, 
The  stars  of  shining  story,  are  not  slow 
In  virtue's  path  to  emulate  their  sires, 
To  assert  their  country's  rights,  avenge  her  sons, 
And  hurl  the  bolts  of  justice  on  her  foes. 


HYMN  TO  .SCIENCE.23 

"  0  vitae  Philosophia  dux !  0  virtutis  indagatrix,  expultrixque  vitio- 
rum  !  Tu  urbes  peperisti ;  tu  inventrix  legum,  tu  magistra  morum 
et  disciplines  fuisti:  ad  te  confugimus,  a  te  opem  petimus." —  Cie. 
Tusc.  Quossf. 

SCIENCE  !  thou  fair  effusive  ray 
From  the  great  source  of  mental  day, 

Free,  generous,  and  refin'd  ! 
Descend  with  all  thy  treasures  fraught, 
Illumine  each  bewilder'd  thought, 

And  bless  my  labouring  mind, 

But  first  with  thy  resistless  light, 
Disperse  those  phantoms  from  my  sight, 
Those  mimic  shades  of  thee : 
II 


442  HYJCN    TO    SCIENCE. 

The  scholiast's  learning,  sophist's  cant, 
The  visionary  bigot's  rant, 
The  monk's  philosophy. 

O  let  thy  powerful  charms  impart 
The  patient  head,  the  candid  heart, 

Devoted  to  thy  sway ; 
Which  no  weak  passions  e'er  mislead, 
Which  still  with  dauntless  steps  proceed 

Where  reason  points  the  way. 

Give  me  to  learn  each  secret  cause ; 
Let  Number's,  Figure's,  Motion's  laws 

Reveal'd  before  me  stand ; 
These  to  great  Nature's  scenes  apply, 
And  round  the  globe,  and  through  the  sky, 

Disclose  her  working  hand. 

Next,  to  thy  nobler  search  resign'd, 
The  busy,  restless  Human  Mind 

Through  every  maze  pursue ; 
Detect  Perception  where  it  lies, 
Catch  the  Ideas  as  they  rise, 

And  all  their  changes  view. 

Say  from  what  simple  springs  began 
The  vast  ambitious  thoughts  of  man, 

Which  range  beyond  control, 
Which  seek  eternity  to  trace, 
Dive  through  the  infinity  of  space, 

And  strain  to  grasp  the  whole. 


HYMN   TO    SCIENCE.  443 

Her  secret  stores  let  Memory  tell, 
Bid  Fancy  quit  her  fairy  cell, 

In  all  her  colours  drest ; 
While  prompt  her  sallies  to  control, 
Reason,  the  judge,  recalls  the  soul 

To  Truth's  severest  test. 

Then  launch  through  Being's  wide  extent ; 
Let  the  fair  scale,  with  just  ascent 

And  cautious  steps,  be  trod  ; 
And  front?  the  dead,  corporeal  mass, 
Through  each  progressive  order  pass 

To  Instinct,  Reason,  God. 

There,  Science  !  veil  thy  daring  eye  ; 
Nor  dive  too  deep,  nor  soar  too  high, 

In  that  divine  abyss  ; 
To  Faith  content  thy  beams  to  lend, 
Her  hopes  to  assure,  her  steps  befriend, 

And  light  her  way  to  bliss. 

Then  downwards  take  thy  flight  again, 
Mix  with  the  policies  of  men, 

And  social  Nature's  ties  ; 
The  plan,  the  genius  of  each  state, 
Its  interest  and  its  powers  relate, 

Its  fortunes  and  its  rise. 

Through  private  life  pursue  thy  course, 
Trace  every  action  to  its  source, 
And  means  and  motives  weigh  : 


444  HYMN   TO    SCIENCE. 

Put  tempers,  passions,  in  the  scale ; 
Mark  what  degrees  in  each  prevail, 
And  fix  the  doubtful  sway. 

That  last  best  effort  of  thy  skill, 
To  form  the  life,  and  rule  the  will, 

Propitious  power  !  impart : 
Teach  me  to  cool  my  passion's  fires, 
Make  me  the  judge  of  my  desires, 

The  master  of  my  heart. 

« 

Raise  me  above  the  vulgar's  breath, 
Pursuit  of  fortune,  fear  of  death, 

And  all  in  life  that's  mean : 
Still  true  to  reason  be  my  plan, 
Still  let  my  actions  speak  the  man, 

Through  every  various  scene. 

Hail !  .queen  of  manners,  light  of  truth ; 
Hail !  charm  of  age,  and  guide  of  youth  ; 

Sweet  refuge  of  distress : 
In  business,  thou  !  exact,  polite  ; 
Thou  giv'st  retirement  its  delight, 

Prosperity  its  grace* 

Of  wealth,  power,  freedom,  thou  the  cause ; 
Foundress  of  order,  cities,  laws, 

Of  arts  inventress  thou  ! 
Without  thee,  what  were  human  kind  ? 
How  vast  their  wants,  their  thoughts  how  blind ! 

Their  joys  how  mean,  how  few ! 


LOVE.  445 


Sun  of  the  soul !  thy  beams  unveil 
Let  others  spread  the -daring  sail 

On  Fortune's  faithless  sea  ; 
While,  undeluded,  happier  I 
From  the  vain  tumult  timely  fly, 

And  sit  in  peace  with  thee. 


LOVE:   AN  ELEGY.24 

Too  much  my  heart  of  Beauty's  power  hath  known, 
Too  long  to  Love  hath  reason  left  her  throne ; 
Too  long  my  genius  mourn'd  his  myrtle  chain, 
And  three  rich  years  of  youth  consum'd  in  vain. 
My  wishes,  lull'd  with  soft  inglorious  dreams, 
Forgot  the  patriot's  and  the  sage's  themes ; 
Through  each  Elysian  vale  and  fairy  grove, 
Through  all  the  enchanted  paradise  of  love, 
Misled  by  sickly  Hope's  deceitful  flame, 
Averse  to  action,  and  renouncing  fame. 

At  last  the  visionary  scenes  decay ; 
My  eyes,  exulting,  bless  the  new-born  day,  • 
Whose  faithful  beams  detect  the  dangerous  road 
In  which  my  heedless  feet  securely  trod, 
And  strip  the  phantoms  of  their  lying  charms 
That  lur'd  my  soul  from  Wisdom's  peaceful  arms. 

For  silver  streams  and   banks   bespread  with 

flowers, 
For  mossy  couches  and  harmonious  bowers, 


446  LOVE. 

Lo  !  barren  heaths  appear,  and  pathless  woods, 
And  rocks  hung  dreadful  o'er  unfathom'd  floods : 
For  openness  of  heart,  for  tender  smiles,     [wiles ; 
Looks   fraught    with    love,    and  wrath-disarming 
Lo !  sullen  Spite,  and  perjur'd  Lust  of  Gain, 
And  cruel  Pride,  and  crueller  Disdain ; 
Lo  !  cordial  Faith  to  idiot  airs  refin'd, 
Now  coolly  civil,  now  transporting  kind. 
For  graceful  Ease,  lo  !  Affectation  walks  ; 
And  dull  Half-sense,  for  Wit  and  Wisdom  talks. 
New  to  each  hour  what  low  delight  succeeds, 
What  precious  furniture  of  hearts  and  heads  ! 
By  nought  their  prudence,  but  by  getting,  known, 
And  all  their  courage  in  deceiving  shown. 

See  next  what  plagues  attend  the  lover's  state, 
What  frightful  forms  of  Terror,  Scorn,  and  Hate ! 
See  burning  Fury  heaven  and  earth  defy ! 
See  dumb  Despair  in  icy  fetters  lie ! 
See  black  Suspicion  bend  his  gloomy  brow, 
The  hideous  image  of  himself  to  view ! 
And  fond  Belief,  with  all  a  lover's  flame, 
Sink  in  those  arms  that  point  his  head  with  shame  ! 
There  wan  Dejection,  faltering  as  he  goes, 
In  shades  and  silence  vainly  seeks  repose ; 
Musing  through  pathless  wilds,  consumes  the  day, 
Then  lost  in  darkness  weeps  the  hours  away. 
Here  the  gay  crowd  of  Luxury  advance, 
Some  touch  the  lyre,  and  others  urge  the  dance ; 
On  every  head  the  rosy  garland  glows, 
In  every  hand  the  golden  goblet  flows. 


LOVE.  447 

The  Siren  views  them  with  exulting  eyes, 
And  laughs  at  bashful  Virtue  as  she  flies. 
But  see  behind,  where  Scorn  and  Want  appear, 
The  grave  remonstrance  and  the  witty  sneer ; 
See  fell  Remorse  in  action,  prompt  to  dart 
Her  snaky  poison  through  the  conscious  heart ; 
And  Sloth  to  cancel,  with  oblivious  shame, 
The  fair  memorial  of  recording  Fame. 

Are  these  delights  that  one  would  wish  to  gain  ? 
Is  this  the  Elysium  of  a  sober  brain  ? 
To  wait  for  happiness  in  female  smiles, 
Bear  all  her  scorn,  be  caught  with  all  her  wiles, 
"With  prayers,  with  bribes,  with  lies,  her  pity  crave, 
Bless  her  hard  bonds,  and  boast  to  be  her  slave ; 
To  feel,  for  trifles,  a  distracting  train 
Of  hopes  and  terrors  equally  in  vain ; 
This  hour  to  tremble,  and  the  next  to  glow, 
Can  Pride,  can  Sense,  can  Reason,  stoop  so  low  ? 
When  Virtue,  at  an  easier  price,  displays 
The  sacred  wreaths  of  honourable  praise ; 
When  Wisdom  utters  her  divine  decree, 
To  laugh  at  pompous  Folly,  and  be  free. 

I  bid  adieu,  then,  to  these  woful  scenes ; 
I  bid  adieu  to  all  the  sex  of  queens ; 
Adieu  to  every  suffering,  simple  soul, 
That  lets  a  woman's  will  his  ease  control. 
There  laugh,  ye  witty ;  and  rebuke,  ye  grave ! 
For  me,  I  scorn  to  boast  that  I'm  a  slave. 
I  bid  the  whining  brotherhood  be  gone ; 
Joy  to  my  heart !  my  wishes  are  my  own  ! 


448  LOVE. 

Farewell  the  female  heaven,  the  female  hell ; 
To  the  great  God  pf  Love  a  glad  farewell. 
Is  this  the  triumph  of  thy  awful  name ; 
Are  these  the  splendid  hopes  that  urg'd  thy  aim, 
When  first  my  bosom  own'd  thy  haughty  sway  ? 
When  thus  Minerva  heard  thee  boasting,  say, 
"  Go,  martial  maid,  elsewhere  thy  arts  employ, 
Nor  hope  to  shelter  that  devoted  boy. 
Go  teach  the  solemn  sons  of  Care  and  Age, 
The  pensive  statesman,  and  the  midnight  sage ; 
The  young  with  me  must  other  lessons  prove1, 
Youth  calls  for  Pleasure,  Pleasure  calls  for  Love. 
Behold,  his  heart  thy  grave  advice  disdains ; 
Behold,  I  bind  him  in  eternal  chains." 
Alas !  great  Love,  how  idle  was  the  boast ! 
Thy  chains  are  broken,  and  thy  lessons  lost ; 
Thy  wilful  rage  has  tir'd  my  suffering  heart, 
And  passion,  reason,  forc'd  thee  to  depart. 
But  wherefore  dost  thou  linger  on  thy  way  ? 
Why  vainly  search  for  some  pretence  to  stay, 
When  crowds  of  vassals  court  thy  pleasing  yoke, 
And  countless  victims  bow  them  to  the  stroke  ? 
Lo !  round  thy  shrine  a  thousand  youths  advance, 
Warm  with  the  gentle  ardours  of  romance ; 
Each  longs  to  assert  thy  cause  with  feats  of  arms, 
And  make  the  world  confess  Dulcinea's  charms. 
Ten  thousand  girls  with  flowery  chaplets  crown'd, 
To  groves  and  streams  thy  tender  triumph  sound  : 
Each  bids  the  stream  in  murmurs  speak  her  flame, 
Each  calls  the  grove  to  sigh  her  shepherd's  name. 


LOYE.  449 

But,  if  thy  pride  such  easy  honour  scorn, 
If  nobler  trophies  must  thy  toil  adorn, 
Behold  yon  flowery  antiquated  maid 
Bright  in  the  bloom  of  threescore  years  display'd ; 
Her  shalt  thou  bind  in  thy  delightful  chains, 
And  thrill  with  gentle  pangs  her  wither'd  veins, 
Her  frosty  cheek  with  crimson  blushes  dye, 
With  dreams  of  rapture  melt  her  maudlin  eye. 

Turn  then  thy  labours  to  the  servile  crowd, 
Entice  the  wary,  and  control  the  proud ; 
Make  the  sad  miser  his  best  gains  forego, 
The  solemn  statesman  sigh  to  be  a  beau, 
The  bold  coquette  with  fondest  passion  burn,    • 
The  Bacchanalian  o'er  his  bottle  mourn  ; 
And  that  chief  glory  of  thy  power  maintain, 
"  To  poise  ambition  in  a  female  brain." 
Be  these  thy  triumphs  ;  but  no  more  presume 
That  my  rebellious  heart  will  yield  thee  room : 
I  know  thy  puny  force,  thy  simple  wiles ; 
I  break  triumphant  through  thy  flimsy  toils ; 
I  see  thy  dying  lamp's  last  languid  glow, 
Thy  arrows  blunted  and  unbrac'd  thy  bow. 
I  feel  diviner  fires  my  breast  inflame, 
To  active  science,  and  ingenuous  fame ; 
Resume  the  paths  my  earliest  choice  began, 
And  lose,  with  pride,  the  lover  in  the  man. 


450 
TO    CORDELIAS 

JULY,  1740. 

FROM  pompous  life's  dull  masquerade, 

From  Pride's  pursuits,  and  Passion's  war, 
Far,  my  Cordelia,  very  far, 

To  thee  and  me  may  Heaven  assign 

The  silent  pleasures  of  the  shade, 

The  joys  of  peace,  unenvied,  though  divine  ! 

Safe  in  the  calm  embowering  grove, 
As  thy  own  lovely  brow  serene ; 
Behold  the  world's  fantastic  scene  ! 
What  low  pursuits  employ  the  great, 
What  tinsel  things  their  wishes  move, 
The  forms  of  Fashion,  and  the  toys  of  State. 

In  vain  are  all  Contentment's  charms, 
Her  placid  mien,  her  cheerful  eye ; 
For  look,  Cordelia,  how  they  fly ! 

Allur'd  by  Power,  Applause,  or  Gain, 

They  fly  her  kind  protecting  arms ; 

Ah,  blind  to  pleasure,  and  in  love  with  pain ! 

Turn  and  indulge  a  fairer  view, 

Smile  on  the  joys  which  here  conspire ; 
O  joys  harmonious  as  my  lyre ! 


SONG.  451 

O  prospect  of  enchanting  things, 

As  ever  slumbering  poet  knew, 

When  Love  and  Fancy  wrapt  him  in  their  wings ! 

Here,  no  rude  storm  of  Passion  blows, 

But  Sports,  and  Smiles,  and  Virtues  play, 
Cheer'd  by  Affection's  purest  ray ; 

The  air  still  breathes  Contentment's  balm, 

And  the  clear  stream  of  Pleasure  flows 

For  ever  active,  yet  for  ever  calm. 


SONG.26 

THE  shape  alone  let  others  prize, 

The  features  of  the  fair : 
I  look  for  spirit  in  her  eyes, 

And  meaning  in  her  air. 

A  damask  cheek,  an  ivory  arm, 
Shall  ne'er  my  wishes  win : 

Give  me  an  animated  form, 
That  speaks  a  mind  within. 

A  face  where  awful  honour  shines, 
Where  sense  and  sweetness  move, 

And  angel  innocence  refines 
The  tenderness  of  love. 


452  SONG. 

These  are  the  soul  of  beauty's  frame ; 

Without  whose  vital  aid, 
Unfinish'd  all  her  features  seem, 

And  all  her  roses  dead. 

But  ah !  where  both  their  charms  unite, 

How  perfect  is  the  view, 
With  every  image  of  delight, 

With  graces  ever  new : 

Of  power  to  charm  the  greatest  woe, 

The  wildest  rage  control, 
Diffusing  mildness  o'er  the  brow, 

And  rapture  through  the  soul. 

Their  power  but  faintly  to  express 
All  language  must  despair ; 

But  go,  behold  Arpasia's  face, 
And  read  it  perfect  there. 


ADDITIONAL  NOTES  TO  THE  MISCELLA 
NEOUS  POEMS. 


1.  (p.  275.)  Originally  entitled,  "  Allusion  to  Horace,"  and 
first  published  in  Odes  on  Several  Subjects,  4to,  1745. 

2.  (p.  277.)  First  printed  for  private  distribution,  afterwards 
altered  and  published  in  Odes  on  -Several  Subjects,  4to,  1745. 

3.  (p.  283.)  Originally  entitled,  "To  a   Gentleman  whose 
Mistress  had  married  an  Old  Man,"  and  first  published  in 
Odes  on  Several  Subjects,  4to,  1745. 

4.  (p.  287.)  First  published  in  Odes  on  Several  Subjects,  4to, 
1745. 

6.  (p.  289.)  First  published  in  Odes  on  Several  Subjects,  4to, 
1745. 

6.  (p.  297.)  Composed  in  1744,  and  first  published  in  Odes 
on  Several  Subjects,  4to,  1745. 

7.  (p.  300.)  Published  in  4to,  1744,  as  "  An  Epistle  to  Curio," 
but  afterwards  altered  into  this  Ode. 

8;  (p.  307.)  First  published  in  Odes  on  Several  Subjects,  4to, 
1745,  and  originally  entitled,  "  On  the  Absence  of  the  Poetic 
Inclination." 

9.  (p.  308.)  First  published  in  Odes  on  Several  Subjects,  4to, 
1745,  and  originally  entitled,  "  To  a  Friend,  on  the  Hazard  of 
Falling  in  Love." 

10.  (p.  314.)  First  published  in  Odes  on  Several  Subjects,  4to, 
1745. 

11.  (p.  327.)  First  published  in  4to,  1748. 


454  NOTES. 

12.  (p.  341.)  First  published  in  Odes  on  Several  Subjects,  4to, 
1745.     [It  was  afterwards  much  altered,  and  is  here  given  as 
printed  by  Mr.  Dyson.     The  copy  in  Pearch's  Collection  of 
Poems  is  not,  as  the  last  English  editor  thinks,  different  from 
Dyson's.] 

13.  (p.  355.)   First  published  in   Dodsley's   Collection  of 
Poems,  Vol.  VI.,  ed.  1758. 

14.  (p.  359.)   First  published  in  Dodsley's   Collection  of 
Poems,  Vol.  VI.,  ed.  1758. 

15.  (p.  361.)    First  published  in  May,  1766,  in  folio. 

16.  (p.  364.)   First  published  in  4to,  1758. 

17.  (p.  382.)   First  published  in  Dodsley's    Collection  of 
Poems,  Vol.  VI.,  ed.  1758. 

18.  (p.  401.)  I.  -VI.  were  first  published  in  Dodsley's  Col 
lection  of  Poems,  Vol.  VI.,  ed.  1758. 

19.  (p.  421.)  First  published  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine, 
for  April,  1737. 

20.  (p.  425.)  First  published  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine 
for  May,  1737. 

21.  (p.  429.)  First  published  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine, 
for  July,  1737. 

22     (p.  435.)  First  published  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine, 
for  August,  1738. 

23.  (p.  441.)  First  published  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine, 
for  October,  1739. 

24.  (p.  445.)  Printed  about  1740  for  private  distribution, 
and  first  published  in  The  New  Foundling  Hospital  for  Wit, 
Vol.  VI.  p.  23,  ed.  1773. 

25.  (p.  450.)  Found  in  an  edition  of  Akenside's  Works,  pub 
lished  at  New  Brunswick  (N.  J.),  in  2  vols.,  1808  [edited  by 
Mrs.  Barbauldj. 

26.  (p.  451.)  Attributed  to  Akenside  by  Ritson,  English 
Bongs,  I.  207. 


